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CHICAGO, NEW YORK, and SAN FRANCISCO 


BELFORD, CLARKE & CO. 


The Household 


Library, 


N Y No. 48 Vol. 4. July 29, 1889. Annual Subscription {30.00. 
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CHICAGO, NEW YORK, and SAN FRANCISCO. 


A BLIND BARGAIN, 



A BLIND BARGAIN 


A NOVEL 


BY 



ROBERT HOWE FLETCHER 



BELFORD, CLARKE & CO., 
CHICAGO, NEW YORK, AND SAN FRANCISCO 
Publishers 


London, HENRY J. DRANE, Lovell’s Court, Paternoster Row 


COPYRIGHT, 1889 , 

BELFORD, CLARKE & CO. 

All rights 0/ draviatization reserved. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


CHAPTER I. 

Carleton, the seat of the U. S. Marine College, is an old 
town, with narrow, inconsequent streets, which pleasantly 
balk a stranger in his desire to arrive at any spot in particu- 
lar; streets which are decrepit with age, and which ramble 
through the place making more digressions than even Laurence 
Sterne ; streets which are bordered with peaked-gable houses that 
have odd windows blinking in the sunshine, and little porches to 
overhang and echo back the footfalls of passers by. It was a 
bustling town once upon a time, when very great people lived in 
it, lived and went to balls and routs every evening and drank tea 
and played at loo in each other’s homes every afternoon ; when 
coaches of the quality rumbled between the houses at all hours 
of the night, conveying our pretty ancestresses all bepuffed and 
beflounced and bepowdered to and from the balls. When, if we 
may believe their chroniclers, swaggering blades in lace-trimmed 
coats and small clothes, ruffled it in the early hours of the morn- 
ing in these same dimly lighted streets, disturbing the slumbers of 
honest tradesmen by their rollicking, drinking choruses, and with 
drunken discretion, bonneting the feeble old watchmen at sight. 
Shocking stories are related of the dissipation of these hard- 
swearing, hard-drinking, yet God-fearing, young ancestors of ours, 
whose bones have long since gone to dust over there in the old 
graveyard. But they were great folks in their day. In the State 
House you may learn, if you don’t break your neck in the ascent 
to where the archives are stored, how great they were. For time 
has fallen asleep in these upper rooms of the State House and all 
is the same as it was a hundred years ago, except for the perfumed 
dust of the cedar wood that lies thickly over all. You may even 
see the room where George Washington, General of the American 

5 


6 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


forces, resigned his sword, standing with all its contents in a cen- 
tury’s stillness ! 

But its glory has departed from Carleton, and now the red 
brick pavements which seem only to have been made for the 
touch of dainty, high-heeled slippers and quilted satin petticoats, 
are silent, or worse, resound to the slip-shod tread of a negro 
oyster vender. Dozing in the simshine, dreaming of the past, it 
seems irreverent to disturb the old town, and susceptible strangers 
are inclined to walk on tiptoe as they pass through the streets, if 
strangers, susceptible or otherwise, chance to find themselves in 
the place. For Carleton is seldom disturbed in this manner, the 
flies and the sunshine have it all to themselves through the week. 
Saturday afternoon the cadet midshipmen from the neighboring 
Marine College having “ liberty,” come straggling through the 
town on their way to favorite haunts, and then to be sure there is 
noise enough for a time until they have all passed. And again, 
when the afternoon wanes and they come straggling back in 
groups, gradually thinning until the last one belated, hastens by to 
arrive in season for the “ supper formation.” And as his hurry- 
ing footsteps echo faintly down the streets, Carleton once more 
dozes in the rays of the setting sun. Men say that it is a dead 
town, but this is not true, it is only obsolete. Its old age is 
touchingly pretty, its quaint houses, its aimless streets, its moss- 
grown wharves with their scent of sea-weed, even to the sail- 
bespangled waters of the bay, the distant hazy eastern shore and 
the blue sky overhead, all are quaint and provocative of a lazy 
affection. 

Along a broad, straight street, bordered with a brick pavement 
well worn by the feet of many generations of cadet midshipmen, 
leads the way to the Marine College grounds. Through a massive 
gateway guarded by a marine sentry and down a long gravelled 
avenue bordered by red brick pavements, and one is in the Marine 
College grounds. The Marine College grounds with their grand 
old elms whispering and nodding to that old salt, the sea breeze, 
as he comes back at sunset from his cruise on the bay. The soft, 
peaceful lawns flecked with leaf shadows, and adorned here and 
there with a laughing child or an egotistical fountain. With its 
green, shady aisles laid with white water- worn pebbles, overgrown 
with green wood, lonely, but for some hoary monuments crouched 
in ferns, or the twitter of birds going to bed in the bushes. With 
its characteristic buildings detached around the yard, some large 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


7 


and dignified, redolent of naval lore, impressing one with a sense 
of one’s own ignorance ; odd little houses guarded by small, brass 
field-pieces , handsome edifices and ancient structures ; modern 
three-story, brown stone fronts and all manner of buildings that 
greet you unexpectedly in retired places, and that glimmer dis- 
tantly through the trees. Such a clever old place is it, you may 
saunter through its walks all the long summer days, if you keep 
off the grass, and meet some new, retired, pleasant feature at each 
and every turn. While off in the distance, is the ever changing, 
yet motionless marine picture of the bay, dotted with its little 
white sails and overhung with aerial streamers of distant steamer 
smoke. The bay belongs to the college. Then, to be sure, it 
was used, too, by certain naval heroes in days gone by to fight 
renowned battles on ; the college having at this moment the pic- 
tures of the heroes, done in ultra marine and ochre, with prodig- 
ious cocked hats on their wooden looking heads, as well as the 
tattered flags that waved above the conflicts : of all of which, bat- 
tles, heroes and flags, the college is very proud. 

It was a glorious afternoon in the early part of January, the 
light of the setting sun streamed through the naked trees, while a 
few adventurous sparrows noisily fluttered up and down and in 
and out. The last strains of a selection from “La Traviata” 
played by the Marine College band in the centre of the ground, 
dying softly away was sharply interrupted by the rattling of a 
drum. In response to this signal cadet midshipmen came 
sauntering singly and in groups through all the walks and alleys 
leading toward the “ New Building,” a large structure of modern 
erection, some flushed and hot from a telling pull on the river or 
from “batting up,’’ others cool and calm from the library or 
smoking room, and others again cool but becoming warm from a 
disposition to “ lark ” on the way. Handsome fellows are these 
First Class-men with whom we have to do, bearded young 
athletes showing their four years training at every point, clad in 
neat fitting uniforms with gold lace badges of office bedizening 
their sleeves. The noise of the drum ceased, the battalion was 
formed in ranks on the esplanade in front of the New Building, rolls 
were called, the evening orders read by the adjutant in a rapid, 
unintelligible tone, and then, at an order, the midshipmen marched 
in squads through the great doorway and passed into the supper 
room. 

As the last squad disappeared, a tall, well built young man of 


8 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


some twenty-two years of age stepped out from the doorway. 
With his beautiful cap, not at all in accordance with existing 
regulations, very much on one side of his head, he sauntered 
down the steps and stood for a moment irresolutely biting the 
end of his blond moustache. Another midshipman coming 
hastily from the direction of the town stopped as he saw the first 
mentioned young gentleman and exclaimed : “ Tm late, I sup- 
pose ! ” Then murmuring “Just my luck!” on being answered 
in the affirmative, he continued, “Here’s a telegram for you, 
Arley,” at the same time producing a message addressed to 
“Midshipman Arthur Arlingford.” 

“ Thank you,” said the man so addressed, “ I was just going 
out to see if one had come.” 

“ Nothing wrong ? ” said his friend, as Arlington glanced at 
the contents. 

“ Oh, no, my people have made up their minds to come down 
to the ball to-morrow night.” 

“ I am glad to hear it,” said the other, “ don’t forget to 
save me some dances.” 

“ Thanks, I’ll count on you.” 

Continuing his way to the row of buildings occupied by the 
First Class, Midshipman Arlingford entered one of them and 
going upstairs to the smoking room was greeted on opening the 
door with “ Hello, old man, come in.” 

This polite invitation he was scarcely able to comply with for 
the smoke which densely filled the room. Seated on tables, 
chairs, window ledges and in fact everything which could by any 
possibility afford room for a seat, were some ten or twelve young 
men arrayed in dressing gowns and smoking jackets of every 
description, from the old fashioned, long-skirted, window cur- 
tain robe, out at elbow and with a rip down the back, to natty, 
velveteen coats, and each of their wearers with a pipe, cigarette 
or cigar in his mouth. 

“Where’s my pipe, Curley.?” asked the new-comer, waving 
the smoke away with his hand as he turned over the miscella- 
neous assortment on the table. 

The young gentleman addressed, by name Frank Dudley, but 
more generally known as “ Curley,” was a handsome, delicate 
lad of eighteen with close curling brown hair, large, dark eyes and 
a complexion which, though sunburned was as free from blemish 
as a girl’s. In fact Dudley’s effeminate beauty had, when as a 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


9 


child of fourteen he entered the college, immediately procured 
for him various feminine nicknames and uncomplimentary allu- 
sions. It was soon discovered however that for all his pretty 
face and shy ways Master Frank was not devoid of spirit and was 
prepared to fight rather than submit to oppression. Being the 
youngest member of the class the odds were somewhat against 
him, and on each occasion that he took the field he lost, for the 
time being, all title to his good looks. One day, Arthur Arling- 
ford, the oldest man in the class, most unexpectedly took up the 
quarrel and had in consequence a fierce encounter with a young 
Goliath who persisted in teasing the boy. This battle, fought 
behind the gas works, “ Marquis of Queensbury rules,” became 
historical by reason of its desperate character, and settled the 
question once and for all in young Dudley’s favor. All this had 
occurred some four years previous in that cubbish period of the 
class known as the “ Plebe Year.” But from this incident a very 
pretty friendship had arisen between the young man and the boy. 
They had roomed together during their four years’ course, and at 
this time their attachment to each other was become, like Arling- 
ford’s battle, historical. At the present moment Mr. Frank Dudley 
was sitting nicely balanced on the window ledge, holding a lively 
conversation with some one on the pavement below, but turning 
his head at his friend’s question he said, 

“I don’t know where your pipe is. I expect you left it down 
at the gymnasium ; I told you you would, you know.” 

“Here’s a cigar, Arley,” said a dark-faced, black-whiskered 
man, who sat on the table nursing his knee, an individual known 
to his class as “ Duke ” Langdon. “ How are the decorations 
getting on ? ” he continued, in a tone of very mild interest. 

“ We shall have as much as we can do to get the rooms ready 
in time,” said Arlingford, lighting his cigar. “ There’s Curley 
there, has not done a blessed thing but flirt the whole afternoon, 
and the rest of the fellows are just as bad.” 

But this statement was not received with favor by the commit- 
tee on decoration, who, being excused from all duty were con- 
gregated in the smoking room. 

“ Well,” exclaimed Dudley, “ I like that.” 

“ Why,” said Arlingford, “ isn’t it so ? ” 

“ No, it isn’t,” retorted Dudley; “ I never flirt.” 

But this assertion is received with even greater disfavor by 
those assembled than the previous one, and in fact results in a 


10 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


volley of comments, through all of which Dudley placidly con- 
tinued puffing at his cigarette. 

“ Well,” said Arlingford, “ I’ll tell you one thing, and that is all 
hands have got to turn to and do some solid work to-morrow, 
and no nonsense about it.” 

“ By the way,” said another of the party, “did you ask the old 
man if we could have the statues in front of his house ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Arlingford, who had charge of the arrangements 
for the ball, “ it is all right.” 

“ For my part,” said Langdon, “ I think they ought to have a 
shawl or something over them.” 

“ It is too bad about you, Duke,” said Dudley, catching a base- 
ball thrown him by some one outside. 

“ I wonder if there will be many down,” said another. 

“I believe so,” said Arlingford, ‘‘a lot came down to-night, 
and there will be an extra train in from Washington to-mor- 
row.” 

“ Oh, there will be a regular jam,” said Dudley, “ like it was 
last year. The Russian minister is going to bring the Grand 
Duke, what’s his name.^ and the Turkish ambassador is coming, 
and the English legation, and all the swells.” 

“ By the way, Arley, said another of the party, a red-haired and 
red-bearded young fellow named Hough, and as he spoke he 
winked at the others as though to invite their attention to a joke, 
“ By the way, did you know that Mrs. Merrin was coming } ” 

There was a pause such as follows an indiscreet or impertinent 
remark made in a crowd, the reception of which is doubtful. 
Arlingford looked at the speaker with indifference and said, 
“ Well, what of it ? ” 

Seeing that his innuendo was not received in the spirit he antic- 
ipated, Hough attempted to retrieve himself by pursuing the sub- 
ject. 

“ Come, now,” he replied with a forced laugh, “you don’t mean 
to say that you are not interested.” 

“ I don’t know what you mean,” said Arlingford in the same 
quiet tone. 

“ Oh,” said Hough “ you are too modest, every one knows that 
you are a favorite in that quarter.” 

“ See here,” said Arlingford, taking his cigar from his mouth ; 
“ I don’t think it is the correct thing to bring a woman’s name up 
in a place like this; however, that is a matter of taste. But I’ll 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


II 


be damned if I am going to let you use my name in making insin- 
uations about this lady or any other, and the sooner you under- 
stand that the better ! " 

“Well, you needn’t get mad about it,” said Hough. “I was 
only in fun.’’ 

“ It’s no subject for fun,” said Arlingford, shortly. 

Here Dudley, who had overheard this little passage of words, 
swung himself down off the window ledge and as though uncon- 
scious of what had been passing in the room, said abruptly, 

“ Do you fellows know that the Second Class have sent for a 
new shell ? ” 

The annual shell boat race between the graduating and the 
coming First Class, an immemorial custom at the college, was a 
subject of great interest, and Dudley’s effort being promptly sec- 
onded by Langdon, was successful in diverting the conversation. 
Hough’s angry protest that he was not going to submit to being 
lectured by any man was suppressed by the exhortations of those 
near him, while Arlingford, who had thrown away his cigar and 
arisen to his feet was quieted by Dudley and unwillingly allowed 
himself to be drawn into the discussion which arose regarding 
sliding-seats, out-riggers, spoon oars and the like. The twilight 
deepened and the occupants of the smoking room, one by one, 
gradually betook themselves to their own apartments until Lang- 
don and Dudley were left alone. 

Excepting Dudley, Langdon was Arlingford’s most intimate 
friend and the former, therefore, felt no hesitation in broaching the 
subject that was burdening his mind. “ What an ass that man 
is ! ” he said in a tone of deep disgust. 

“ What man } ” said Langdon. 

“ Oh, that fellow Hough,” replied Dudley. “ What the devil did 
he want to say such a thing as that for ? ” 

“ Is it true that Mrs. Merrin is coming down ? ” said Langdon, 
stretching himself out on a bench. 

“ Yes,” said Dudley, “confound her.” 

“ Hello ! ” said Langdon. 

“ Well, I hate that woman, Duke, upon my word I do ! She is 
the only woman I ever did hate. I never met one before but 
what had something about her to like, but I’ll be hanged if this 
one has a single point. All that she lives for is to have some man 
admiring her. The Lord knows I’m not squeamish, but the way 
she goes on fairly makes me sick. She gets that cat like grin on 


12 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


her face the moment she sees a man looking at her, just to show 
off her teeth and her eyes.” 

“ Well,” said Langdon, “ why shouldn’t she ? She has pretty 
teeth and very handsome eyes.” 

“ I don’t think so,” said Dudley doggedly. “ People say she is 
so beautiful, but I can’t see it. She looks to me like a cat. But 
it isn’t her looks, it is her way that I’m talking about. If you go 
anywhere near her she always has something very confidential to 
say to you and then there is no getting away from her. She is 
forever laying her hand on a fellow’s arm, taking hold of his watch 
chain or a button of his coat. Perhaps if she did that sort of 
thing for me alone,” said Dudley, with a little laugh to cover a 
blush that came into his honest, boyish face, “ I wouldn’t mind it 
so much, although I don’t like to be pawed all over, but she does 
it for every man.” 

“How about her husband ” said Langdon, apparently much 
amused at Dudley’s tirade. 

“ Her husband ! ” said Dudley. “ There you are again ! If she 
treated him half way decent it wouldn’t be so bad. He’s a first 
rate fellow and yet she seems to take delight in mortifying him 
before people. She doesn’t make any attempt at concealing the 
fact that she only married him for his money.” 

“ Do you suppose that Arthur really cares anything for her ? ” 
asked Langdon. 

“ Oh, I don’t know what to think,” replied Dudley impatiently. 
“ When she first came down here a year ago she made a dead set 
for him and they used to be a good deal together. I never could 
understand how a man like Arley could fancy her, although she 
didn’t carry things quite so far then. You know people talked 
about them and I got myself disliked because I told him of it. 
He fires up now if anything is said about her, though I don’t 
think he can care for her. He has such high and mighty notions 
about women, and she is just the one to take advantage of it to 
keep him at her side. She has got some hold on him and she’ll 
never let go. And he is too much of a gentleman to see it.” 

“Well,” said Langdon, arising and brushing the ashes off his 
velvet coat, “ Arthur won’t thank any one for interfering.” 

“ Humph ! ” growled Dudley, throwing away the end of his 
cigarette ; “ you can bet your life he won’t ! ” 


CHAPTER II. 


The Arlingfords of Washington had always been gentlemen, 
so Sydney Arlingford, the deceased progenitor of the present 
head of the house, had been fond of declaring. Sydney had 
belonged to the old fashioned school of the early century, and his 
ostentatious assertion had fitted well with his high rolling collar 
and Southern mannerisms. He himself had certainly enacted the 
role of a gentleman as it was conceived in those days. He could 
drink his bottle of wine, his bow was a study, his wit undeniable, 
he had race horses, gambled a little, and had fought a duel. He 
had spent a large fortune in maintaining his reputation, lived 
much of his life in Paris, and finally married one of the daughters 
of an aristocratic but impecunious family of the Faubourg St. 
Germain. Bringing his handsome bride to Washington he set- 
tled down to the business of recuperating his estates. Two sons 
were born of this marriage, Thomas and Henry. Thomas, the 
elder, was in due time sent to West Point. After graduating he 
passed much of his time on the frontier, fighting Indians, where 
he gained a reputation for being a gentleman somewhat different 
from that of his father’s day. Brave, honest and pure. Major 
Arlingford was indeed a gentleman, and as fine a cavalry soldier 
as ever put foot in stirrup. He married Catherine Ware, the 
daughter of the colonel of his regiment. Soon after his son’s mar- 
riage old Sydney Arlingford died, his wife having preceded him 
by several years, and Major Arlingford, resigning his commission 
in the army, took up his residence in the family mansion at Wash- 
ington. Here two children were born, the boy Arthur, and a girl 
three years younger, named Kate. 

Henry Arlingford, Sydney’s other son, was a different type ol 
man from the major, his brother. He was unprincipled and prof- 
ligate, but at the same time he was handsome, clever and amiable, 
and being his own worst enemy, everybody liked him. His 
brother loved him, and condoned the defects in his character — 
defects which in another man would have received his outspoken 

13 


4 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


condemnation. Henry returned this fraternal love in his own 
cheerful, thoughtless way by unloading all his troubles and diffi- 
culties on his brother, with childlike confidence. Perhaps it was 
this feeling of protection on the one hand and dependence on the 
other, which had existed ever since their childhood — when Tom 
had taken more than one whipping for Henry’s sake and Henry 
had let him — that made so strong a bond between the brothers. 
When Major Arlingford was on the frontier, Henry was in New 
York ostensibly studying and practicing law. Finally he married 
a maiden lady some eight years older than himself but of good 
family and considerable means, which a wise father had bequeathed 
her in such manner that it could not be diverted or squandered. 
This lady had a most romantic passion for her handsome young 
scapegrace of a husband. She could not, or would not, see his 
weaknesses. “ His was a peculiar nature,” she said, “ and there 
were few who could understand him.” She resented wrathfully 
any fault finding with him, and as he very frequently gave the gos- 
sips of Washington, where he came to reside after his marriage, 
plenty of occupation for their tongues, his wife was kept ever on 
her guard ready to defend him. In time this irritating warfare 
changed her manner from that of a pleasing, ingenious person to 
the cold, haughty demeanor of a woman of the world — “such a 
contrast to her warm hearted sister-in-law, the major’s wife ! ” 
said Society, complacently ignoring the fact that it had forced the 
poor lady into this incongenial role. So it was that Mrs. Arling- 
ford, through the very sensitiveness of her feelings, assumed a 
repellant armor of austerity which in no way belonged to her, 
much as the hermit crab crawls into the shell of a mollusk. 
Although Mr. Sydney Arlingford, the father -of Henry, pro- 
nounced his son’s marriage to be the only wise act of his life, the 
daughter-in-law most cordially disliked the old gentleman for the 
very reason that he was so mercilessly candid in his comments on 
her husband’s character. When, therefore, he died and left the 
bulk of his property, which after all was not very considerable, to 
his eldest son, the major, and to her husband but a very small 
annuity, Mrs. Henry Arlingford saw no reason to mitigate her 
dislike. Not that she cared for the money, it was the tacit cen- 
sure that the will conveyed to the world that she resented. 
Indeed as for the money, when Major Arlingford took up his 
abode in Washington and the old relationship between the 
brothers naturally revived, he declared that whenever Henry 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


IS 

wanted money he could have it ; and Henry gave him no lack of 
opportunity to put his generosity into practice, until Mrs. 
Arlingford hearing of it, she protested that her husband had 
means enough of his own and should not in any event be depend- 
ent on his brother’s bounty for what ought to have come to him 
rightfully. In fact Mrs. Arlingford began to dislike her brother- 
in-law almost as much as she had her father-in-law. She was 
jealous of his influence over her husband, and then too, in those 
comparisons which people would persist in drawing between the 
brothers, her idol suffered. This bitterness, however, was never 
allowed to produce a rupture between the families. The major 
admired his sister-in-law’s spirit, and understanding the underlying 
influences which were at work, was always gentle and forbearing 
with her. As for Catherine, his wife, she merely said : “ What a 
pity it is, Tom, that God has not seen fit to give her children,” — 
a panacea, in this good woman’s opinion, for most of the troubles of 
life. And there the matter rested until Arthur Arlingford was nine 
years old. At that time Mrs. Henry Arlingford’s brother died — 
died at sea under most distressing circumstances. He and his wife 
had been visiting Honolulu for the benefit of the latter’s health, 
and were returning in a sailing-ship, bringing with them their only 
child, Gertrude, a girl of five years of age. The ship was wrecked 
and Mrs. Arlingford’s brother was lost. His wife and child, 
after being in an open boat for several days, were rescued and 
taken to San Francisco. Here the lady, overcome by grief and 
exposure, soon after followed her husband, leaving the child to the 
care of her sister-in-law, and with her a fortune of forty thousand 
dollars, of which Mr. Philip Yates, a New York merchant, and 
Henry Arlingford, were appointed trustees. Thus it seemed as 
though Catherine’s wish was realized, and that God had sent 
Mrs. Henry Arlingford a child. 

And to be sure the little golden haired Gertrude was like a ray 
of sunshine in the large, empty house on Sixteenth Street. Every- 
body loved her and petted her. As for Mrs. Arlingford herself, 
habitually absorbed as she was in her husband, she did not real- 
ize until long afterward how deeply Gertrude had in these early days 
entered her heart. The three children, Arthur and Kate Arling- 
ford and Gertrude Alden grew to maturity together. Gertrude 
naturally spent a great deal of her time at Major Arlingford’s 
house in Lafayette Square, where her Aunt Catherine’s arms were 
always ready to receive her. If the truth must be told, those 


i6 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Other arms on Sixteenth Street were so unused to a child’s nest- 
ling, they seemed cold and constrained by comparison, and chil- 
dren are instinctively critical, not to say selfish, in such matters. 
Henry Arlingford himself, with his childlike, irresponsible nature, 
was much more to the little girl’s mind than her aunt, with all her 
devotion. But of all those who fe under the spell of the way- 
ward, high spirited, yet gentle and loving little maid, the boy 
Arthur surrendered himself the most completely. He was a no- 
madic barbarian, as most boys are, who regarded association with 
girls as a sign of weakness. At the same time, his father had 
trained his strong masculine nature from the beginning to hold 
women in reverence, which teaching made of them in Arthur’s 
mind beings of a higher and more spiritual type than men ; and 
he accordingly showed the sex a protective, chivalrous deference 
that in later years was one of his marked characteristics. What 
notion had entered his head in regard to his so-called cousin 
Gertrude would be difficult to explain ; it is sufficient that she exerted 
a very curious influence over him, and being a truthful girl, with 
exalted ideas of honor, a lover of knightly romances and a hater 
of littleness, this influence was for Arthur’s good. Meantime the 
black-eyed, black-haired, imperious Kate, “who closely resembled 
her pretty French grandmother,” worshipped her brother and 
looked on his devotion to Gertrude with smouldering jealousy 
which was only kept down by her own love for the slender 
enchantress. On the other hand Gertrude would go to extremes 
in the defence of either Arthur or Kate. It was, in fact, a friend- 
ship which had its effect in after life, on all three of its partici- 
pants. 

Mention has been made of Mr. Philip Yates, one of the trustees 
of Gertrude’s inheritance. This gentleman, a wealthy New York 
merchant and a warm friend of the late Mr. Alden, took a great 
deal of interest in his little ward and came frequently from New 
York to confer with Mr. Arlingford on business matters connected 
with the trust, the investing of which was guided by his judg- 
ment. On these visits Mr. Yates was generally accompanied by his 
son Paul, who, at the time of Gertrude’s advent in Washington, was 
a young man of twenty-one or two. In this way Paul Yates 
became intimate in both of the Arlingford families. Some ten 
years later when his father died, Paul succeeded to his immense 
fortune and naturally also to the trusteeship. When this change 
occurred Mr. Arlingford, being the older man, assumed a more 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


17 

active part in the management of the trust, which, as will be seen 
was not altogether to its advantage. It w’as about this time that 
Arthur, now a lad of eighteen, was made happy by an appoint- 
ment to the Marine College at Carleton, it having long been his 
desire to become a sailor, much to his mother's sorrow. When 
the official document arrived however, that lady made light of 
her own fears and regrets, and with suspiciously red eyes entered 
heartily into Arthur’s enthusiasm. Not so Gertrude ; she utterly 
refused to talk over the brilliant future of her comrade or even 
look at the important letter. And when Arthur remonstrated, to 
his surprise she broke forth into angry reproaches for his selfish- 
ness and disregard of his mother’s happiness. This unexpected 
rebuke had such an effect on Arthur, he, in fact, not having given 
this side of the matter much attention, that he was inclined to fol- 
low the example of the illustrious George Washington, which 
Gertrude had not failed to quote with good effect, and tear up his 
appointment at his mother’s feet, but finally decided with her 
approval to write his acceptance instead. Soon afterward Ger- 
trude and Kate were taken to Paris by Major Arlingford and left 
there to finish their education in a convent school, under the care 
of the major’s aunt, the Comtesse de Beaugarde. 

During the four years of Arthur’s preparation for a commission 
in the Navy, and of Kate’s and Gertrude’s residence abroad, noth- 
ing of interest occurred in the lives of those who have thus briefly 
been introduced to the reader, excepting that during the last year 
of this period Mr. Henry Arlingford’s health had declined until 
finally he had had a slight stroke of paralysis. From this he had 
recovered to a great degree, but had never regained his former 
vigor. At the time of the sending of the despatch to Arthur at 
Carleton informing him of the intention of his family to be pres- 
ent at the midshipmen’s ball, Kate and Gertrude had been at 
home only a few months. The former was now nineteen years of 
age, tall, dark, and handsome ; the latter, a year younger, was 
slender, with golden brown hair and dark gray eyes. The two were 
always together and formed a pretty contrast and a charming 
combination. They had scarcely as yet made their bow in the 
social world, and this annual ball at Carleton, which was always 
an event in the winter season for both Washington and Baltimore, 
was looked forward to by them with great delight. In Gertrude’s 
case there was the additional interest of meeting her old comrade 
Arthur for the first time since he had entered the navy, Kate hav- 


2 


i8 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


ing visited her brother shortly after her return. The party had 
originally comprised both families, but at the last moment Henry 
Arlingford had not felt quite strong enough to undertake the jour- 
ney. Of course his wife remained with him, and Gertrude herself 
would have relinquished the trip had not her uncle insisted on her 
going, declaring that he was not ill but simply averse to such a 
formidable undertaking for the purpose of merely looking on at 
other people’s pleasure. The young ladies, therefore, departed 
for Carleton in charge of Major and Mrs. Arlingford, the invited 
guests of Commodore Traunton, the superintendent of the col- 
lege. 


CHAPTER III. 


In accordance with the message he had received, Arthur was in 
attendance when the afternoon train from Washington, crowded 
with fashionable visitors, slowly puffed its way into the smoky 
little depot at Carleton. Descrying his father’s well-known figure 
emerging from a distant car he hurried forward in time to shake 
hands with him and to assist his mother and sister to alight, 
secretly kissing each as he did so. But when a young lady in a 
soft gray travelling suit of evident foreign make, placed a little 
gray gloved hand in his, and Gertrude, whom he had not seen 
since she was a slip of a child, stood beside him, Arthur was at 
a loss what form his greeting of this comrade of former days 
ought to take. As he held her hand in the hesitation of the mo- 
ment Gertrude, perhaps divining his thoughts, looked up and said, 
mischievously, “Well?” 

“Well,” said Arthur, “I think may be we had better be intro- 
duced.” 

Kate, who had been regarding them with great interest, laughed 
at this and then turning to Gertrude with exaggerated politeness, 
she continued, “ Miss Alden, permit me to introduce my brother. 
Midshipman Arlingford. She is quite harmless, Arthur,” added 
Kate reassuringly. 

“ I don’t know about that,” said Arthur, while Gertrude, greet- 
ing this nonsense with a little laugh, leaned her head back and to 
one side, as a bird does, to get a glimpse of the tall Arthur from 
under the veil that persisted in slipping down over her eyes. A 
pretty glance it was and a pretty pair of eyes that bestowed it, and 
it was managed withal in such a charmingly natural and self-pos- 
sessed way, that it is no wonder that Arthur felt somewhat at a 
loss in the presence of this transformation of his boyhood’s com- 
panion. After all the idea of an introduction was not so absurd. 

After the party had arrived at the commodore’s residence the 
ladies retired to rid themselves of the dust of travel and recuperate 
for the evening, while the major seized the first opportunity to 

19 


20 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


slip his arm through Arthur’s and carry him off for a row on the 
bay. 

Very fond of his son and proud of him too, was Major Arling- 
ford, both of which sentiments Arthur heartily reciprocated. He 
had been in the habit of coming down to Carleton every few 
weeks during Arthur’s career there, and was in consequence famil- 
iar with all the localities of the charming old place. So the two 
sauntered down to the sea wall and embarking in one of the boats 
Arthur rowed out upon the still waters of the bay, glinting in the 
afternoon sun. The major, elevating his gray moustache, snuffed 
up the salt air laden with the odor of sea-weed and oyster shells 
and confided to Arthur for the twentieth time that he always had 
had a great fondness for salt water. Presently he exchanged 
places with his son and handled the oars himself in quite a pro- 
fessional way. But all of this time Arthur’s fancy was busy with 
a gray veil which half concealed and half betrayed a face that he 
was growing every moment more desirous of seeing again. Fol- 
lowing the line of his thoughts he induced his father to talk of 
Gertrude, which the major, loving and admiring her as he did, was 
not unwilling to do. And so the afternoon slipped away and 
they were almost late for dinner. Here Arthur’s position at the 
table was not favorable for observing the object of his thoughts 
there being a big centre piece of flowers in the way, nevertheless 
he stole an occasional glance. And after each one he said to 
himself with a longer breath than usual and a sort of tender pro- 
prietary pride, “ By George, how pretty she has grown ! ” Once 
or twice he found her scanning him, and self-assured as the 
young man ordinarily was, he felt the color deepen in his 
face. 

Gertrude did not change color as their eyes met, on the con- 
trary she seemed amused at his disconcertion. Her manner was 
that of perfect composure, at the same time full of interest ; and 
after dinner she took marked pains to have him talk to her. She 
recalled incidents of their childhood which he had long forgotten 
and yet was pleased to have her recollect. Did he remember this, 
and did he remember that ? What was that game they used to 
play in which they sowed something and it came up a flower ? 
Planting ? was that it ? She remembered how, as a little boy 
he had sowed his father and he came up a poppy, and how clever 
they all thought him. 

“ So I was,” said Arthur modestly. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


21 


“Yes,” said Gertrude, “as a little boy. Well, I will plant my- 
self to-night. What will I come up ? ” 

“You will come upstairs,” said Kate, interrupting them at this 
point, “ and that immediately ; otherwise we shall be very late.” 

“You will come up a — a morning glory,” ventured Arthur, 
with a desperate effort. 

“ But,” said Gertrude, as Kate led her away, “ I am to bloom at 
the ball. Do you give it up ? Then I will tell you : a leucoiiiin 
luietimP 

“ Why, of course ! ” replied Arthur, with a pretence of knowing 
all about it. “ It was very stupid of me not to guess that.” 

And Gertrude paused and laughingly said, “ Thank you ! ” 
and made him a courtesy, a courtesy such as the great ladies at 
Versailles made in the minuet a hundred years ago, deep, pro- 
found, and with a deliberate grace that brought forth a “ Bravo ! 
Miss Alden,” from the old commodore. Whereupon Miss Alden 
finding herself watched in this frivolous conduct, displayed a fine 
blush over her pale complexion as she made her escape, while 
Midshipman Arthur went to his quarters and arrayed himself in 
a brand new uniform, and discovered from his dictionary, to his 
dismay, that a leucoium lMteu7n meant a wallflower. 

It is needless to say that Gertrude had aspersed herself in this 
matter, for when she, accompanied by Arthur, and Kate escorted 
by Mr. Langdon, entered the ball-room, a very evident sensation 
was created ; and Arthur, on leaving his party for a moment was 
instantly besieged by a crowd of men importuning him for intro- 
ductions. But Arthur made his escape without gratifying any of 
them ; he had reserved this distinction for only a chosen few. In 
fact a feeling of solicitude for the dainty Gertrude was rapidly 
weeding out even the chosen few, until the process threatened to 
leave her no other partner than himself. The part of a queen 
hedged around with divinity would however, have scarcely pleased 
a girl of eighteen at her first ball, and Gertrude with a touch of 
her old time imperiousness, gave Arthur to understand that he 
was to introduce every one of his friends ; she would, herself, 
choose those whom she liked. And so Arthur was forced to 
stand by and act master of ceremonies while the music of the 
first waltz, for which she was engaged to him, drew rapidly to a 
close. Finally, when she did consent to rise, they found the floor 
too crowded for waltzing, and abandoning the attempt, they 
walked up and down the corridors, pausing every now and then to 


22 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


look in upon the brilliant scene. Among those whom Gertrude 
chose to like was Arthur’s young room-mate, Dudley, familiarly 
known as “ Curley,” and at her invitation he walked with them. 
Master Curley was by no means loath, and betrayed his admiration 
for Gertrude in his big, brown eyes in a wonderfully effective 
way. Only when he happened to catch Gertrude’s glance he 
blushed and hung his head and looked at her out of the corners 
of his eyes deprecatingly, and otherwise behaved himself in a 
sort of shy, modest way of his own that was delightful for any 
young woman to see. 

While they were thus strolling along, talking in a happy, desul- 
tory fashion about nothing in particular, glad in their youth, the 
music and the beauty of their surroundings, they were met by a 
party consisting of a lady with two gentlemen. The lady had a 
noticeably perfect form and carriage, with a face, which, while it 
was not beautiful, was strikingly handsome. Her eyes were large 
and dark, her lips were red, and when she smiled she showed a 
set of very white and even teeth. She smiled now, as she paused 
and said to Arthur, 

“ The next dance is ours, is it not } ” 

Arthur bowed and with scarcely perceptible hesitation replied, 
“ Certainly, Mrs. Merrin, I have that pleasure.” 

“I thought so,” she said lightly, “although I was not quite 
sure.” 

A^ she spoke she looked at Gertrude curiously. Scarcely 
knowing why, Gertrude drew herself up under the gaze, and 
made a slight movement to pass on, a movement promptly 
seconded by Dudley. But Mrs. Merrin turned upon the latter 
with a little detaining gesture and said laughingly, 

“ Do you know, Mr. Dudley, that as long as we have been 
acquainted, you have never once asked me to dance.’’ 

Curley blushed guiltily and said something about not dancing 
much, to which Mrs. Merrin paid little heed, being still busy fur- 
tively observing Gertrude. Meantime Arthur made no effort to 
manufacture conversation, and when Gertrude said to him, “ I 
think I will go back into the ball-room now,” he replied promptly : 
“ Certainly,” and with a bow was about to comply with her wish. 
Just then the band commenced playing. ' 

“Hark!” said Mrs. Merrin, looking at Arthur, “Is not 
that our music Yes, it is, and the ‘Blue Danube,’ too ; my 
favorite.” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


23 


Gertrude immediately relinquished Arthur’s arm and saying, “ I 
will excuse you,” moved on with Dudley before he had time to 
reply. 

Bowing their dismissal to the gentlemen with her, Mrs. Merrin 
took Arthur’s arm, but ignoring the strains of the “ Blue Danube ” 
resumed her walk. 

“ Well ! ” she said after an interval of silence. 

Arthur met her gaze without replying. 

“Well!” she repeated peremptorily, and then continued with 
mock courtesy, “ perhaps I have interfered with a pleasant en- 
gagement.” 

“You know that I am always at your service,” said Arthur. 

“ Why did you not introduce me to that young lady ? ” con- 
tinued Mrs. Merrin, ignoring his reply. “ Who is she ? ” 

“ She is a connection of mine,” said Arthur, “ a Miss Alden.” 

“ And why did you not introduce me ? ” she repeated. 

“ Because,” he said, “ under the circumstances, meeting casually 
that way, I did not suppose it necessary.” 

“ I understand,” she said coldly, with a slight curl of her lip, 
“ you need not explain.” And then after a few moments’ silence 
she shrugged her shoulders and exclaimed, “ Oh, well ! ” 

“ I would have called upon you this evening,” said Arthur, 
“ only as you know, my people came down and I could not get 
away.” 

“ Oh, you need not apologize,” said Mrs. Merrin indifferently, 
“ it does not matter.” 

Again there was a silence broken finally by Mrs. Merrin. 

“ You might at least say that you are glad to see me.” And 
then changing her manner quickly, she said with a pout and in the 
childlike tone she sometimes adopted, “ You are just a little glhd, 
are’nt you, Arthur ? ” 

“ Of course I am,” he answered, but his manner scarcely upheld 
the assertion. 

“ Humph ! ” she exclaimed with angry impatience, and then 
continuing, “ Did you say that Miss Alden was a relative ? ” 

“ No,” he replied, “ a connection only.” 

“ She would be rather pretty if she wasn’t dressed in such bad 
taste. A girl with her dead-white complexion ought not to wear 
a plain white dress, do you think so ? ” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know,” he said. 

“ Do you think she is pretty.^ ” persisted Mrs. Merrin. 


24 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


I have not thought much about it,” replied Arthur. “ Let us 
talk of something else.” 

“ And why } ” exclaimed Mrs. Merrin, throwing back her head 
angrily, “ am I not permitted to even mention this young lady’s 
name } ” 

“ Come, Lilly,” said Arthur, “ don’t let us quarrel.” 

“ I have no desire to quarrel,” she said, only you say such very 
pleasajit things.” 

“I am sorry,” he replied, gently, “I did not mean to. You 
know perfectly well that I would not intentionally say anything to 
displease you.” 

“ And you are not sorry that I came ? ’’ she said, looking 
up at him somewhat mollified. “ I only came on your ac- 
count.” 

“You were very good, and I appreciate it,” said Arthur. 
“ Won’t you let me finish 'this waltz with you ? ” 

“ Yes,” she said, “ though you don’t deserve it.” 

Meantime Gertrude and Dudley had instantly become good 
comrades. They liked each other instinctively, and were soon 
chatting like old friends. 

“ I should think it would all be very jolly,” said Gertrude, to 
whom Dudley, at her request, had been describing the methods 
and traditions of the Marine College. 

“ It would be were it not for the studies and the drills and the 
officers,” said Dudley. 

“Of course,” assented Gertrude sympathetically. “What do 
you wear this gold lace on your sleeve for } ” 

“ Because I am captain of a gun,” said Dudley. 

“ Only one } ” she asked. 

“ Yes,” he said, “ but that is a big one.” 

“ And Arthur has three stripes, what are they for ? ” 

“ He is a Cadet-Lieutenant,” said Dudley. 

“ But that is not as nice as being captain of a gun is it ? ” 

“Well, rather,” said Dudley. 

“ And what do they do with you if you don’t graduate ? ” said 
Gertrude. 

“ Then you are bilged ! ” he said tragically. 

“ Ooo ! ” exclaimed Gertrude with a little shudder, “ does it 
hurt ? ” 

“ They say it does,” said Dudley feelingly. 

“ But you will graduate very high, I suppose, won’t you ? ” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 25 

“Oh, very?” with cheerful irony, “number one, probably, 
counting from the bottom.” 

“ An-d Arthur, where will he graduate ? ” 

“ He ought to graduate head of the class,” said Dudley in an 
injured tone, “ he is smart enough, but notwithstanding all my 
good advice he won’t study. He is in the boat’s crew and the 
base ball nine and all that sort of a thing, and then he is always 
getting spotted.” 

“ Spotted ! ” repeated Gertrude wonderingly, “how? ’’ 

“ Why, you see,” explained Dudley, “ whenever a fellow does 
what he ought not to do, or does not do what he ought to do, 
then they ‘ spot’ him, give him a certain number of demerits. If 
you don’t have your room in order or are out of your room during 
study hours, or if you blow down the gas pipe, things like that 
you know ; and they count against you.” 

“ But, how can you blow the gas pipes down ? ” said Gertrude. 

“ I don’t mean blow it down,” said Dudley laughing. “ I mean 
blow into it, that puts the gas out all over the yard.” 

“ Oh, how lovely,” said Gertrude, “ I should like to do that, and 
have you many spots ? ” 

“Well,” replied Dudley, with an air of frank admission, “yes, I 
have a few.” 

“ How many ? ” persisted Gertrude. 

“ If you insist upon it, I think I made up my full allowance last 
night.” 

“What for? Tell me all about it, ’ said Gertrude with great 
interest. 

“ Well, you see, the officer in charge inspects during evening 
study hours to see that every man is in his room. Last night he 
inspected my room first and as soon as he left I just rapped on 
the register to let all the other fellows in the building know that 
he was coming,” 

“ Why I think that was good in you,” said Gertrude.” 

“ Yes, wasn’t it,” said Dudley, “ but I got spotted for it just the 
same. The funniest thing happened to Arley the other night,” 
continued Dudley encouraged in his recital by Gertrude’s sympa- 
thy. “ I was out skylarking with one of the fellows, during study 
hours, a big fellow he was, and he chased me back into my room. 
I made Arley help me put him out and then the big fellow started 
off for reinforcements ; so Arley picked up an oar and I got a base 
ball bat and W'e shut the door and waited for them. Presently we 


26 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


heard them coming along playing the officer in charge and his 
gang, inspecting. That was too old a trick to fool any one, so I 
winked at Arley, and as soon as they knocked at the door and 
threw it open, Arley let drive with his oar. Well, it happened to 
be the officer in charge after all, and Arley poked him clean across 
the hall before he recognized him. I don’t know which was the 
most astonished of the two. As for me, I just lay down on the 
bed and howled, it was so funny ! It was not so funny the next 
morning,” added Dudley, “ because we both got ten spots for it. 
That very nearly bilged Arley, because he had more than his 
allowance of demerits then. In fact, I think he would have gone 
if it had not been for the steam house fire.” 

“ Oh, tell me about the steam house fire, do,” said Gertrude. 

“ Let’s finish our waltz first,” said Dudley. 

“Oh, no,” said Gertrude, “ tell me about the steam house fire.” 

“ Then I shall lose fully half my waltz with you,” protested 
Dudley. 

“I will give you another,” said Gertrude, “get them to play an 
extra, and you may have it. Now tell me about the steam house 
fire.” 

“And will you take me out in the German frequently ” per- 
sisted Dudley. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ now go on.” 

“ Well,” said Dudley, “ you know we have a regular fire brigade 
here. I am foreman of the Hook and Ladder Company, and it 
is no end of fun when there is a fire in town. They depend 
entirely upon the midshipmen, and it is a regular lark every time 
there is an alarm. You see some of us are quarantined for one 
thing or another, and never get out in town except when there is a 
fire. It is astonishing what a number of alarms they have out 
there. Well, this fire was not out in town until we put it out.” 

“ Oh, please don’t ! ” said Gertrude. 

“Well, I won’t,” said Dudley. “ Let me see, where was I ? It 
is just like a novel, isn’t it.^” 

“ If you trifle with me,” said Gertrude, “ I will not take you out 
in the German.” 

“Well, I’ll behave now. The steam house you must know, is a 
very elegant structure in the florid, gothic style. There are work- 
shops and models of engines, and all that sort of thing in the 
steam house, and then there is a big Corliss engine, the same as 
they have in ocean steamers, and we have to learn how to run that 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


27 


engine, and all about it. The watchman fills the boilers at night 
and has everything ready for the class that is to handle it the next 
day. Well, one night the building took fire. Then there was a 
hurrah, and the fire bells rang, and the drum corps beat to 
quarters and all hands turned out. The Fire Brigade rattled 
down in fine style, the Hook and Ladder Company with its dis- 
tinguished foreman, winning the race by half a head. When we 
got to the building the front part was full of fire and smoke, and 
one of the engineers nearly lost his life by going in to turn the 
water out of the boilers of the big engine. He did not succeed, 
however, and the fire was getting up steam in the boilers, and 
there was a lively prospect of their bursting and blowing up the 
whole business. I was up on the roof with a lot of axe-men when 
this little tea party was going on, and then we were all of us sud- 
denly ordered down. I noticed a crowd around one of the win- 
dows in the rear of the building, and presently some one was 
hauled out from the inside. Then word was passed to go ahead, 
it was all right, and so we went up on the roof again, and after 
a while the fire was put out. When I got back to my room, I 
found Arley there looking like a chimney sweep, and then I learned 
that it was he who had turned the water out of the boilers. I did 
not find out till the next day how he had done it. He had got in 
through a back window and actually crawled underneath the 
boilers to where the valves were. It was the greatest wonder in 
the world that he was not cooked. Well, the commodore sent 
for him the next morning, and when Arley returned he told me 
that they had taken off his superfluous demerits. I should think 
it was as little as they could do. The commodore must have 
given him a quantity of good advice too, for Arley unloaded a lot 
of it on me. And then they issued an order thanking the 
midshipmen for their efforts in subduing the fire, and compliment- 
ing Midshipman Arlingford on his fearless achievement, in which, 
the commodore went on to say he recognized the result of the 
good advice and moral precepts instilled into him by his room- 
mate Midshipman Dudley,” concluded that young gentleman, 
gravely. “ I say,” he added, “ you won’t tell Arthur that I told 
you all about his spots and the steam house fire, will you? 
Because he would not like it.” 

“ No,” said Gertrude thoughtfully, “ I won’t mention it.” 

At midnight, just as the adjacent armory had been thrown open 
for supper, Arthur’s father sought him out, and told him that as 


28 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


he and his mother felt somewhat tired, they would not remain. 
Arthur noticing that his father looked serious and depressed, anx- 
iously inquired if he were not feeling well. The major then ad- 
mitted that he had just received a telegram from Washington 
containing unpleasant news. 

“ My brother, your Uncle Henry,” he said, “ has had an attack 
of paralysis ; this is the second one he has had you know, and I 
naturally feel very uneasy. I shall take the first train back to 
Washington, but I understand that does not leave till six. Mean- 
time,” concluded the major, “ say nothing about it to Gertrude or 
Kate. It would only spoil their evening and would serve no pur- 
pose.” 

“ Why, I am ever so sorry,” said Arthur, “ ever so sorry. I 
wish there was something I could do.” 

“ But there is not, my dear boy,” replied his father. “ In fact, 
there is nothing to be done, except to wait patiently and hope for 
the best. So, good-by, take good care of your sister and Ger- 
trude, and don’t let them stay too late.” And nodding affection- 
ately to his son, the major departed. 

“Why the deuce couldn’t they have kept that telegram until 
morning, instead of being so zealous,” thought Arthur to himself, 
as with an oppressive feeling of impending trouble he sought out 
Gertrude and Kate, and told them of the departure of his father 
and mother. 

But shortly afterwards the floors were cleared for the German, 
and Arthur, who was to lead, had little time to indulge in melan- 
choly forebodings. Having signalled the music to begin, he turned 
toward Gertrude who was his partner and as she rose to meet him, 
occupied as his mind was with other matters, he was literally sur- 
prised at her delicate beauty. Her peculiar hair, with its different 
shades of golden brown curled in feathery clusters about her 
shapely head, each little lock which had escaped from confinement 
during the dancing, curling up of its own sweet will, while one 
obstinate tress which persisted in falling over her forehead, neces- 
sitated an unconscious and impatient movement of her hand to 
keep it out of her eyes. Her delicate complexion was more trans- 
parent than ever, through fatigue, her cheeks were flushed, and 
her dark, gray eyes were lit up with the excitement of her first 
ball, while the shadows underneath caused by the unusual dissipa- 
tion, added to their brilliancy. Her girlish figure too, in a simple 
white dress had all the charming, innocent grace that nature 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


29 

bestows alone on dawning womanhood. As she moved off with 
Arthur to the slow music, he said gravely, 

“ Miss Alden, you are a poem.” 

“ Because I am read ? ” said Gertrude, quickly. Then she 
laughed and said, “ Am I flippant.^ Well then, it is only because 
I do not like to have you try to pay me compliments.” 

“ I won’t do it any more,” said Arthur submissively. 

And he was thanked by a glance from her eyes as they sepa- 
rated before she had time to reply. Then she proceeded to make 
Dudley happy by leading him out in the course of the figure. 
And after this she was not allowed by the many eager claimants 
for her hand, to resume her seat for a moment. 

One by one sleepy chaperones had delegated their duties and 
retired, or succumbed to fatigue in secluded corners, and still the 
fascinating German continues. Tired, unconsciously but painfully 
tired, the satin-shod feet still move over the fioor^ the rich dresses 
sweeping in graceful curves as their young owners move in 
rhythmic motion, unwilling to leave this beautiful retreat with its 
soft strains of music and its delightful memories of past hours, 
unwilling to acknowledge the real world which has grown a dim 
memory. But ah, my dears, how pale your faces look! What 
strange light is it, that is creeping into the room ? Surely it is 
not a flattering one ; what can the committee be thinking of ! 
And those evergreens too, why are they seared and yellow, and 
the water in the fountain strikes a chill to one’s blood. What a 
stony stare have these decorations and the hot-house flowers, what 
a disagreeable odor ! Why, to be sure, they are withered and 
dead, so! All the bright forms are departing. See, there goes 
the last hooded figure past the door. The stolid German musicians 
muffle up their fiddles in black cloths, place in its coffin the bass 
viol, and talking in guttural tones stump through the vacant 
chamber and are gone. The cold, gray light of early dawn 
searches out bits of lace, dropped flowers and neglected “ favors,” 
and ruthlessly exposes them to the unsympathetic gaze of the 
hollow-eyed alcoves. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Having escorted their charges home and left them at the door 
with a whispered “ good-night,” Arthur and Langdon strolled 
back to their quarters smoking and chatting in the cool, still morn- 
ing. 

Arthur had forgotten, for the time being, his uncle’s illness and 
his father’s abrupt departure from the ball. When, therefore, he 
opened the door of his room, he was surprised to find the major 
sitting there alone, looking pale and aged in the dim, gray light. 
He had evidently not been to bed that night, and Arthur’s con- 
science smote him at sight of the sad and lonely figure. His 
father’s thoughtful kindness in retaining the sorrowful news that 
their evening enjoyment might be undisturbed, while he went off 
alone to keep a solitary vigil, struck Arthur forcibly and made him 
feel ashamed and angry with himself for the poor return he had 
made in dancing till the last minute. 

“ Father ! ” he exclaimed, “ I had no idea that you were sitting 
up, waiting for me, or I should not have stayed so late. Why did 
you not let me know } ” 

Then the deep dejection of his father’s attitude and the 
expression of his face as he looked up, began to impress Arthur 
with vague uneasiness and caused him to add hastily, “ Have you 
heard anything more from Uncle Henry? ” 

The major slowly shook his head, not as though in reply, but 
as if overcome by emotion he was unable to repress. Then 
Arthur, thoroughly alarmed, stepped forward and putting his 
hand on his father’s shoulder, said, “ Father ! what is the matter ? 
How is Uncle Henry ? ” 

“ My dear boy,” said the major, lifting his reddened eyes to 
Arthur’s face, “ he is dead ! ” 

“ Dead ! ” cried Arthur, dazed by the unreal events of the pre- 
ceding hours and unable to realize this sudden and incongruous 
tragedy. “ Dead ! ” he repeated. And then as he gazed upon his 
father’s bowed figure, the truth was borne in upon him. He had 

30 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


31 


seen too little of his uncle to be greatly affected by his loss, but 
his father’s woe appealed to him most forcibly. Pausing for a 
moment at a loss what to do, the tender affection he felt for the 
grief stricken man before him suddenly swept aside all thought. 
Involuntarily he sank upon his knee and slipping his arm around 
his father’s neck he leaned over him and whispered, “ My dear 
old father, I am sorry, so very, very sorry.” 

Then in the silence which followed, he felt how tame and 
commonplace were the words he had uttered. The major with- 
out making any response, continued to sit leaning forward, his 
arms resting on his knees and his hands, drooping listlessly while 
his eyes gazed dimly at the floor. As he looked at his father 
Arthur saw that his eyelids were red and that his mouth quivered 
as he caught the end of his great, gray moustache between his 
teeth and released it with a little nervous movement. And while 
his heart was filled with sympathy he secretly wondered at all this. 
He had never thought that any one near. or dear to him was liable 
to such tragedies. That death should come to other people, was 
a matter of course, but that it should strike so near him was 
bewildering. Furthermore he had grown up from childhood with 
an unconscious reliance in the superiority and infallibility of his 
father, with a feeling that he was not subject to the ills and weak- 
nesses of ordinary mortals. This exhibition of intense grief was, 
therefore, all the more shocking. Each moment Arthur felt less 
and less able to express his sympathy, and this inability to comfort 
him, this being a silent spectator of his father’s emotion, grew 
more and more painful. Finally as his thoughts travelled back 
over the events of the evening and returned again to this tragical 
termination, Arthur broke the silence by exclaiming in a tone of 
reproach, “ Father, why did you not send for me ! ” 

Then the major arose wearily and walking to the window stood 
with his back toward his son. After a moment’s silence he 
replied in a low voice, “ I only knew of it half an hour ago. After 
I left you, I went to the telegraph office, and the young man in 
charge was very kind and offered to keep the office open 
for me. In that way, I received word every hour until — ” 
and here the major’s voice faltered. “ I went over to the com- 
modore’s house to let your mother know,” he continued pres- 
ently, “ so that she could break the news to Gertrude. Poor little 
girl, it will be a sad termination of her party ! She was very fond 
of him.” 


32 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


And the poor gentleman pressed his hand over his e^-es. 
Presently he turned toward Arthur and exclaimed impatiently, 

“ Well, well, we are losing time ! I have seen the commodore 
and got a four days’ furlough for you, so that you can go back 
with us. The train leaves at six, so change your clothes and come 
over to the house as soon as you can.” And so saying, he strode 
away. 

Relieved at having something to do, Arthur, in a very few 
moments equipped himself for the journey, and leaving a note on 
the pincushion explaining his departure to Dudley, who had not 
yet returned, he betook himself to the commodore’s house. 

That was at strange journey that they were so unexpectedly 
required to make, creeping away from the night’s festivities like 
guilty ghosts in the early dawn, gliding through the gray, misty 
landscape, on their way from a dance to a funeral. There was an 
unreality about it that checked familiar intercourse. Lost to their 
surroundings, each one of the party was a prey to his or her own 
thoughts. Arthur was perhaps freest from this influence. Long 
absence from home had made his uncle a virtual stranger to him, 
while what little he had seen or heard of him was not of a charac- 
ter, in the absence of affection, to create regret. While he was 
impressed by the event, Arthur’s nature was not one to entertain 
any sentimental grief that he did not actually feel. He was 
unaffectedly sorry for those who were afflicted, for Gertrude, and 
especially for his father. 

If the truth were known, his mother’s tears were due almost 
entirely to the same feeling. The remorse she felt for having 
sometimes spoken with severity of the man who was now dead 
wa^ swallowed up in her grief for her husband, and as she fur- 
tively noted how pale and sad he looked, she became angry and 
indignant with life for serving him so. 

As for Gertrude, she sat in a corner of the car with a veil down 
over her face, while occasionally she drew her handkerchief to dry 
the tears that stole down her cheeks, as in her retrospect she 
remembered some kindly word or affectionate act of the uncle 
who was gone. Some kindly word or affectionate act, trifling in 
themselves, but standing out brilliantly now against the back- 
ground of his death and throwing all else of evil into undistin- 
guishable shadow. 


CHAPTER V. 


The same gray, windy dawn that had robbed the ball-room of 
its enchantment, stole into the chamber where lay all that 
remained of Henry Arlingford, and stripping it of the mystery of 
the night, left it a desolate reality. Kneeling bbside the bed, 
apparently overcome by sleep, with her head buried in her arms 
and her whole 'attitude one of utter abandonment to grief, 
crouched the dead man’s wife. The stillness of early morning 
was being broken by the distant rumbling of omnibuses and 
wagons indicating the arrival of a train, noises of returning life 
which emphasized the stillness of the death chamber. Presently a 
carriage rattling through the empty street stopped in front of the 
house. Mrs. Arlingford moved, raised her head languidly and 
putting her dishevelled gray hair away from her eyes, listened 
with a dazed expression. A bell rang noisily through the silence. 
She arose stiffly to her feet, and arranging her dress stepped into 
the hall and leaning over the balustrade, listened as a servant 
opened the front door and spoke a few words with the person 
outside. Passing with trembling limbs down the stairs, she said, 
“ Is that Mr. Yates } ” and on being answered in the affirmative, 
she added, “ Show him into the library,” and entering that room 
herself, she was soon joined by the gentleman who had just 
arrived. 

This person, Mr. Paul Yates, it will be remembered, was the son 
of Philip Yates, who had been originally appointed one of the trus- 
tees of Gertrude’s fortune. When quite a young man he had 
accompanied his father on his visits to Washington and had, after 
his father’s death, been appointed his successor in conjunction 
with the deceased Henry Arlingford. Since Gertrude’s return from 
Europe he had spent a great deal of his time in Washington, and 
was consequently on familiar terms with Mrs. Arlingford. As he 
stands before the bereaved lady, with his hat in his hand, Paul 
Yates appears to be a man of about thirty-four years of age, is 
rather short, though well-built, has dark hair and eyes and what is 
3 33 


34 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


termed a muddy complexion, while his manner is nervous, restless 
and ill at ease, even bordering on the suspicious. It is this 
unhappy manner which causes him to be occasionally spoken of as 
“ poor old Yates.” Compounded of discordant elements, he was a 
man who invoked a sort of tolerant pity in the best balanced 
minds, while very often he was spoken of thus sneeringly by men 
who had not one-half his sterling qualities. His most unfortunate 
characteristic was extreme egotism — an egotism that was not the 
result of vanity but rather of an over sensitive appreciation of his 
own deficiencies. He talked constantly of himself, but it was with 
a desire to talk himself up to the standard he knew that he fell 
short of. The pronoun I was the weapon with which he was per- 
petually defending himself from imagined dej*ogatory opinions. 
Of course his constant effort to place himself on a level in this way 
with other men only resulted in putting him at a greater disad- 
vantage. Being exceedingly sensitive, he found a personal allu- 
sion in the most general remarks. Necessarily, then, he would 
often detect what he believed to be slighting allusions to himself, 
and, as he had a quick temper, he would sometimes astonish his 
associates by publicly resenting such remarks. As a consequence, 
he was a man debarred of friendship, for friendship involves a free 
interchange of opinion, and that with Yates involved a quarrel. 
A man of moods, he would betake himself off alone and recalling 
some imagined slight would brood upon it until it grew to such 
proportions that, meeting the person who had incurred his resent- 
ment, he would cross the street to avoid him or pass him by with- 
out greeting. These whims, however, were always short-lived, 
and were generally followed by an apologetic attempt at concilia- 
tion, more or iess embarrassed. Finally, Paul Yates was truthful, 
honest, and when not warped by his vagaries and passions, he 
was kind-hearted and generous. It was by these latter traits only 
that Mrs. Arlingford knew him. 

Advancing to where the widow stood in the shadow of the cur- 
tain, Mr. Yates rather awkwardly tendered her his sympathy. 
Stifling the emotion which arose at the mention of her husband’s 
death, she thanked him in a low tone and then continued, “ It was 
very kind of you to come so promptly, Paul.” 

“ Oh,” protested Yates, interrupting her, “it was nothing, I was 
thinking about coming to Washington any way.” 

“ It was very kind of you,” continued Mrs. Arlingford slowly, 
struggling to preserve her composure. Her tone seemed 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


35 


strangely conciliatory, almost deprecatory. ‘‘ Won’t you sit 
down ? ” she continued, “ the servant will bring some coffee in a 
few moments. You must be tired after your night’s journey.” 

“ Thank you, I am sure, but I won’t stay,” said Yates, keeping 
his hat in his hand, “ I came here directly from the depot, as you 
asked me in the despatch, but, of course — ” 

As he hesitated, Mrs. Arlingford said, “ Yes, we both hoped so 
much that you might be in time. But you will stay for a few 
minutes,” she continued, as Yates still remained standing. “ I 
need your advice and assistance on a matter of some importance. 
It will not detain you long.” 

“Oh, of course,” said Yates, “anything that I can do, I am 
sure that I shall be most happy.” 

“ It is about Gertrude’s fortune,” continued Mrs. Arlingford, 
with an effort. “ He hoped so much that he would be able to 
talk with you about it.” 

“ Why, that is all right,” said Mr. Yates reassuringly, “ it was 
not necessary at all ; I suppose he wanted to consult me about his 
successor, but there is no hurry about it.” Then as a silence 
ensued, and Vates dreaded an exhibition of grief he continued 
hurriedly, ‘‘ Did he suggest any one.^ ” 

“ No,” replied the lady biting her lips nervously, “ no, no one.” 
She was laboring under intense excitement, which, after the ex- 
haustion of the past night, she was scarcely able to control. Mr. 
Yates, however, relieved at being able to converse on ordinary 
business topics, did not notice this. 

“ Oh, well,” he said, “ it is of no consequence ; we can arrange 
all that after a while without any trouble. There is no necessity 
of talking about it now.” 

“ No,” assented Mrs. Arlingford, doubtfully, her voice trem- 
bling in spite of her efforts, “ no, but, I am afraid — I don’t know — 
I am afraid that Mr. Arlingford has been unfortunate in some of 
his investments of Gertrude’s fortune, Paul.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed that gentleman, putting down the cup of 
coffee he was in the act of raising to his lips. And then in a 
reassured voice he continued, “ But that is impossible, you 
know, because not more than a year ago we invested the money in 
stock that is higher to-day than it has ever been before.” 

Despite this assurance, however, Mr. Yates was evidently dis- 
turbed and awaited suspiciously for a reply. 

‘‘ I think he had reason to doubt the safety of the stock.” the 


36 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


lady answered almost inaudibly, “ and disposed of it in something 
else. That is why I was anxious to see you about it first.’’ 

“ But, my dear madam,” exclaimed Mr. Yates, arising and 
setting the cup down, “ he had no right to do that, you know, 
without first consulting me ! There is some mistake about that, 
you must be mistaken. Perhaps,” he added, as Mrs. Arlingford 
made no answer, “ perhaps it would be as well for me to go and 
make a few inquiries.” 

Stepping quickly to his side as he turned toward the door, Mrs. 
Arlingford laid her hand on his arm with a gesture of command. 
“ Stop ! ” she said, and then softening her voice she continued, 
“ not yet, I beg of you ! Sit down, I will detain you only a 
moment.’’ 

But Mr. Yates did not resume his seat, and Mrs. Arlingford 
remained standing between him and the door, looking gaunt and 
haggard in the early sunlight which was now streaming full upon 
her. 

“ Mr. Yates,’' she said, while the blood mounted slowly to her 
sallow cheeks, “ you know that my husband was an honorable 
man.” 

Whatever doubts Mr. Yates may have had, he did not give them 
expression, but replied hurriedly, “ Oh certainly, of course, I did 
not — ” 

“ No one,” she interrupted him, “ ever dared utter a word 
against his integrity while he lived, and please God,” she cried, 
losing control of herself for a moment, “ no one shall call his 
honor in question now that he is dead ! Whatever he has done it 
was with the purest and best intentions ! Do you hear ? ” she 
said defiantly. “ The purest and best intentions ! What has been 
lost was lost through — through,” but here she faltered, and then 
whispering hysterically, “ Oh, my God ! ” she wrung her hands and 
looked helplessly around while the tears welled slowly into her 
dim eyes and trickled one by one down her furrowed cheeks. 

“There, there,” Mr. Yates interposed quickly while he gazed in 
distress at her contorted features, “ don’t cry, I wouldn’t cry ! It 
won’t do any good.” 

Then as this consolation failed in its effect, being in fact some- 
what spoiled by his evident desire to escape, Yates walked to the 
window and looked out for a moment, drumming with his fingers 
on the panes and shaking his head. “ I was afraid of this,” he 
muttered to himself. “ I ought to have looked into it long ago.” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


37 

Meantime the poor lady’s sobs continued to break the silence of 
the room. 

k inally turning toward her as she gradually regained her com- 
posure, Mr. Yates said, “You see, Mrs. Arlingford, I can't exactly 
understand what is the trouble, or why you are so anxious about 
this matter. Now don’t you think that the best thing to be done 
is for me to find out to-day exactly how affairs stand ? Your 
brother-in-law. Major Arlingford, and I can go over it all quietly, 
and meantime you can be getting a little rest.” 

Mrs. Arlingford drew herself up with an air of intense eager- 
ness as her brother-in-law’s name was mentioned, and then said, 
calmly, but very impressively, “ Mr. Yates, Paul, will you under- 
stand me when 1 tell you that I would rather lie b^ his side,” and 
here she pointed to the room overhead, “ dead, by my own hand, 
than that that excellent man. Major Arlingford, or his excellent 
wife, my sister-in-law, should know about this. Come,” she 
continued, “ I am perfectly calm now and I won’t trouble you any 
more with my weakness. It is too bad of me, I know,” she 
added, pathetically attempting to smile, “ to keep you after you 
have been travelling all night—” 

“ Oh, I don’t mind that,’’ interrupted Yates. 

“ But,” she continued, “you will forgive me I know. I must 
understand now, in case my fears are realized, and this money is 
lost in some unfortunate investment, what consequences will 
follow.” 

“ Well,” replied Yates after a few moments thought, “ you see 
it is just this way. As for me, / did everything that I had to do. 
We decided at our last meeting on the investments. Everything 
has always been invested in his name and, of course, I could not 
be inquiring every day if matters were all right ; I supposed of 
course they were. Now if Arling — that is, you know, if he has 
drawn it out and put it in something else, which, of course, he had 
no right to do without consulting me, we will find the papers 
for it, and if it was a bona fide investment and the money is 
lost, why it can’t be helped, that’s all. They can’t blame me for 
it.” 

“ And if no papers can be found ? ” said Mrs. Arlingford. 

Mr. Yates looked at her for a moment and then said, “ Mrs. 
Arlingford, I think you had much best be perfectly frank with me, 
and tell me all you know. It will have to come out sooner or 
later. If the money is not found and nothing to show for it, there 


38 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


will be an inquiry, and as I can prove that it is not my fault, 
why, — ” and Yates paused significantly. 

The lady making no movement to reply, Mr. Yates continued in 
a persuasive voice, “ You see, Mrs. Arlingford, 1 have lived long- 
enough in this world to know something about men, especially in 
business, and I know that a man may be honest and honorable 
and all that, .and yet sometimes make a slip. I have seen it 
over and over again.” Here he paused and looked at Mrs. 
Arlingford, but she had covered her eyes with her hand and gave 
no sign. “Everybody,” he continued, ‘‘ on such occasions every- 
body always says it is so strange, but 1 don’t, I have seen too 
much of that in business. Now I happen to know that a certain 
gentleman, well, your husband, you know, has been speculating in 
Wall Street pretty freely of late, in some of those wild cat Cali- 
fornia mining stocks, and I have heard that he has lost a good 
deal of money in another sort of speculating here in Washington. 
In fact, that he has been playing pretty heavily. Of course,” he 
added hurriedly, as Mrs. Arlingford made a little appealing gesture, 
“ of course, I don’t know how true it is, and I don’t believe every- 
thing I hear by a long way, but if this money is gone and nothing 
to show for it, it is a breach of trust, and,” concluded Yates, 
resuming his restless walk, “ they will have to sue the estate, 
that’s all ! ” 

“What did you say.?” asked Mrs. Arlingford, looking up. 

“ They can’t expect me to stand it, you know,” responded Yates 
somewhat doggedly, “ and they will have to sue.” 

“ Mr. Yates,” she exclaimed with quiet contempt, “ do you sup- 
pose that this is a pitiful matter of dollars and cents with me ! 
Do you suppose, sir, do you dare to suppose that to save a 
wretched fo.rty thousand, or forty million of dollars, I would let 
you or any living soul dare breathe a word of reproach against 
one of the noblest men that ever lived ! ” 

“ Why,” said Yates, greeting this lofty exhibition of wrath with 
open-eyed wonder, “ I don’t understand. Do you mean to say 
that he has not left you a7iything? ” 

“ I mean, sir,” she replied, “ that in his frank, unsuspecting 
generosity, he has thrown away his money on friends, friends who 
have deliberately ruined him ! While I, I have nothing but my 
annuity, which I cannot sell, else, Mr. Yates, I should not now be 
holding this conversation with you ! ” 

“ Oh, well,” said Yates, “ of course I did not mean to say 


A BLiNtv BARGAIN. 


39 

anything against him. You see I have done all that is required of 
me as a trustee.” 

“ So you have said before, sir,” she replied bitterly. 

“ Exactly,” said Yates, innocently. “It is pretty hard on you, 
I acknowledge, in fact it is too bad,” and he turned away, thought- 
fully rubbing his chin with his hand. “ How much is the account 
short ? ” he asked presently. 

“ I don’t know,” replied Mrs. Arlingford wearily. “ Gertrude’s 
fortune amounted to about forty thousand dollars, as you know, 
and from what he said, I am afraid that a great deal, if not all of 
it, is gone.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed Yates, again becoming excited. Then 
after a few moments’ silence, he said, “ And when is she of age ? ” 

“ She is just eighteen, but then there is the possibility of her 
marriage.” 

Her 7narriage ! ” cried Yates, wheeling around, but this time, 
it was very evidently not the business view presented by this sug- 
gestion that caused his emotion. He met Mrs. Arlingford’s sur- 
prised glance of inquiry awkwardly enough by saying, ” Why, 
she is a child.” And then added, “ She is not engaged, is she } ” 

“ No,” replied Mrs. Arlingford, “ she is not engaged, but a girl 
like Gertrude is liable to be as soon as she enters society.” 

“ Then don’t let her enter society ! ” said Yates, almost rudely. 

Mrs. Arlingford looked at him for a moment, as he stood at the 
window with his back turned toward her, and the expression on 
her face gradually changed. Then arising, she went to him and 
placing her hand upon his shoulder met his eyes as he turned, and 
said, “ Would you care if she were engaged } ” 

Yates’ swarthy complexion darkened with a flush at the question, 
and then freeing himself he moved away, replying almost sullenly, 
“ I don’t know whether I should or not. I suppose I am a fool ! ” 
But immediately repenting of this harsh judgment of himself, he 
said, “ You see, I have known her ever since she was a baby, and 
— and everybody says she is the most beautiful girl they ever 
saw.” 

“ Then why not try to win her ? ” said Mrs. Arlingford slowly. 

Mr. Yates laughed in a short, unpleasant way. “ She wouldn’t 
care for me,” he said, “ not but that I am as good as any other 
man, only I am not what you call a lady’s man.” 

“ Have you ever said anything to her ? ” asked Mrs. Arling- 
ford. 


40 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ No, madam, certainly not,” he replied emphatically. 

“ Paul,” she said, “ you are an honorable man. I know that you 
are a kind-hearted and a generous one. That you are wealthy,” 
she added with a faint smile, '‘is another good quality as the 
world goes. Any mother would be glad to have you for a son-in- 
law, why should you not marry Gertrude ? ” 

Yates’ face again grew red and his eyes lighted up as he said, 
“ If I could ! But,” he added, constrainedly, “ there is no use 
talking about it. I don’t think she would care for me.” 

“ I cannot see why not,” said Mrs. Arlingford. “ I will help 
you. Do you understand ? Wait a moment, hear me out,” she 
interposed as Yates was about to speak. “ I will help you, and 
all that I ask in return is your promise that you will give me time 
to repay the loss of this money, keeping the affair meantime 
entirely in your own hands so that no breath of scandal shall be 
upon my husband’s name. You are rich,” she pleaded, “you can 
do this!” 

“ But I don’t want Miss, Gertrude to be forced into marrying 
me,” he said, suspiciously. 

“ Gertrude is not a girl that can be forced,” replied Mrs. Arling- 
ford quietly. “ Nor would I force her, even if I could. All that I 
propose to do is to influence her for her own good in her choice of 
a husband. I love Gertrude dearly, and as God hears me, I speak 
the truth when I say that I would rather see her the wife of a 
man like yourself, than have her run the risk of being captivated 
by the meretricious accomplishments of the men she is likely to 
meet in Washington society. .1 tell you, Paul, any mother might 
be more than satisfied to give her daughter into your keeping, and 
what is more, I tell you that there is no reason why Gertrude 
should not be your wife.” 

“ But — ” commenced Yates uneasily. 

“ Great heavens, sir ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Arlingford. losing 
patience, “ why do you answer me with ‘ buts ’ and ‘ifsl’ If I 
were a man of your wealth I would risk forty times forty thousand 
dollars, or whatever the sum may be, for such a chance of winning 
the woman I loved, and such a woman 1 Of what are you afraid ? 
At my death, and I pray God it may come soon, I can leave you 
the money. I have ninety thousand dollars, and although by the 
terms of my father's will, I can. draw only the income during my 
life, the principal I can leave as I desire. And I pledge you my 
word, or if that is not enough, draw up all the guarantees and 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


41 


bonds you like, and I will sign them, that the day of my death 
shall see you reimbursed.” 

“Oh, I don’t care about all that so much,” said Yates. “Of 
course if I should marry Miss Gertrude, it would make no differ- 
ence about the money. But — ” 

“ But what ! ” she interrupted. “ Give me your promise that no 
breath of suspicion shall touch my dead husband’s name ! You 
see that I trust to your word alone I Will you promise.^ Quick ! 
Will you promise ? ” It was her last effort. 

“ Well,” said Yates, hesitatingly, “yes, I suppose so.” 

“ On your word of honor as a gentleman ? ” Her face was 
burning now and her eyes shone with excitement. 

“ Yes,” said Yates, accepting the dry, hot hand, she held out to 
him. 

“ May God bless you ! Now go ! ” 

Dropping into a chair, as white as the handkerchief she held 
pressed against her breast, she motioned him away, whispering 
“ Go ! go ! ” Presently the front door closed, and at the sound 
Mrs. Arlingford languidly opened her eyes. Then arising 
unsteadily and with her hand still pressed tightly against her 
breast, she made her way to the room where the body of her hus- 
band lay. Dismissing the attendants, she sank down by the bed- 
side and bursting into tears, she sobbed, “My darling, my darling, 
no one in all the wide world shall ever say a word against you 
now ! ” 


CHAPTER VI. 


It was not until a day in early June, some five or six months 
after the midwinter ball, that Carleton was once more aroused by 
the influx of many strangers. Then the graduating ceremonies of 
the senior class drew thither relatives, friends and acquaintances 
of the midshipmen from all pans of the country. Arthur’s father, 
mother and sister were there. Gertrude, also, looking like a lily 
of the valley in mourning, had been induced by Kate to accom- 
pany them. Gertrude found those warm June days in the Marine 
College grounds very pleasant, too, wandering in the green, shady 
aisles under the grand old elms, or standing on the soft smooth 
lawns watching the midshipmen at the competitive drills, athletic 
sports and friendly contests of all sorts, which marked the close of 
the Academic year. 

To Arthur the winning of his diploma was not altogether the 
joyful event that he had anticipated during the last four years of 
effort. In the first place he had to learn that gratified ambition is 
always a little disappointing. Then, too, he was not entirely satis- 
fied with himself, principally, perhaps, because he fancied that 
Gertrude was not entirely satisfied with him. For on the first day 
of their renewed companionship, Arthur had discovered that 
Gertrude still possessed the same influence she had exerted over 
him in his boyhood. She was the embodiment of his conscience, 
of his spiritual honor; only the embodiment was no longer a 
child, but a woman. Nay, more with the chivalrous deference for 
the sex implanted in his youthful breast by his gallant father, 
Gertrude in her pure beauty and mysterious power, was idealistic, 
superhuman, divine. And each of his acts was accompanied by 
the old familiar question: “What vdll Gertrude think of it.^ 
When he had parted from her six months ago in Washington, 
after his uncle’s funeral, she had been almost like the child 
Gertrude as of old. During the week following that dreary epi- 
sode they had been constantly together, walking in the early 
morning or in the evening twilight, saying little, she apparently 

42 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


43 


finding consolation in his companionship and he satisfied to think 
that this was so. Their future, with its new responsibilities, 
changed relations and possible complications, was all shut out 
for the time being by the curtain of death and they were 
remanded for these few days to their old terms of comradeship. 
When Arthur bade her good-by on his return to the Marine Col- 
lege, the tears, which at this period of Gertrude’s life were very 
near the surface, filled her eyes as she said, “ You have been very, 
very good to me ! ” And yet now, only six months later, his suc- 
cess or failure seemed equally indifferent to her, and while she 
talked and laughed with him when occasion served, he felt that 
somehow she was no longer the same. To be sure he had done 
nothing to be specially proud of. He had graduated very low in 
his class — he never had been much of a hand at studies. But on 
the other hand he had helped to win the shell race for his class 
against heavy odds. When an oar on his side of the boat had 
been sprung he had done all the work for ten lengths from the 
home stake. But while his classmates had cheered him, and car- 
ried him on their shoulders around the grounds in triumph, and 
his relatives and friends generally had made much of his exertions, 
Gertrude alone had remained indifferent, so much so that it had 
provoked the impulsive Kate to declare that Gertrude did not 
deserve to have such a “ cousin ” as Arthur. Gertrude had 
looked up at Kate, with her head on one side, and replied with a 
saucy note of interrogation, “ No } ” Whereupon Arthur had said 
impatiently, “ Why, it was nothing, any fellow in the crew could 
and would have done as well, if not better ’ ” But all the same 
Gertrude’s apathy had hurt him. For was it not this same Ger- 
trude who in his boyhood days incited him to acts of valor, 
applauded his feats of strength and agility, washed his face and 
mended his garments after his surreptitious tumbles from the 
major’s horse or desperate battles with street arabs ? 

As he pondered over these things he wondered what could have 
produced this change in Gertrude’s demeanor. Had he said or 
done anything to offend her? No, he could think of nothing. 
Then why was it ? Suddenly there flashed into his mind, or his 
conscience, the recollection of a handsome, black-eyed woman, 
whose smiling face seemed to present itself as an answer to the 
problem. Had Gertrude heard of his attentions to this lady? 
Was that the answer ? 

At any rate Arthur accepted it. His face hardened a little as he 


44 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


resolutely dismissed these melancholy, half tender, half regretful 
thoughts from his mind and forced himself to listen to the com- 
monplace words of the orator, who, according to custom, was giv- 
ing the graduates good advice on their future conduct in life, prior 
to the presentation of their diplomas. Then the band played 
“ Out of the Wilderness,” the battalion of cadets gave the depart- 
ing midshipmen three cheers as they marched off parade, and 
Arthur soon after passed out of the massive gateway guarded by a 
marine sentry (who now presented arms to him), an officer of the 
United States Navy. 

When Arthur accompanied his family home from Carleton, 
Washington City, with its magnificent distances, grown hazy in 
the heat, was deserted by “the social world.” Fashionable people 
had sought their respective summer resorts, whether in the moun- 
tains, at the seaside or in the rear rooms of their closed dwellings. 
Senators and representatives had retired to their own states and 
the hotels and boarding houses were empty. Gertrude and her 
aunt departed immediately for Newport, where Mrs. Arlingford 
had rented the cottage of a friend who had gone to Europe. 
Major Arlingford had been in the habit of taking his wife and 
daughter to similar fashionable and expensive places and then 
making his own escape to more congenial surroundings. But this 
summer, somewhat to their surprise, he announced that he was 
the fortunate discoverer of a charming village on Long Island 
Sound, known to the initiated as Westasket, and to this place he 
invited his family to accompany him. 

Catherine, his wife, received the proposition at first with a look 
of solicitude, and then agreed with her husband in every particu- 
lar, even growing enthusiastic over the charms of Westasket, a 
place she had never heard of before. In fact this lady was in the 
habit of greeting any suggestion made by her lord with approval. 
If he had indicated a desire to spend the summer in the kitchen 
she would have discovered many excellent arguments for such a 
step and cheerfully submitted to the test. 

So Arthur having preceded the family for a two or three days’ 
sojourn in New York, joined them later on in Westasket. While 
in New York he met Dudley, who tried in vain to induce him to 
go to Newport for the regatta. Not succeeding in this. Master 
Curley had finally, with much grumbling, announced his intention 
of accompanying Arthur to Westasket, declaring that if Arthur 
chose to be disagreeable, he, Curley, would be disagreeable too. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


45 


At which proof of the boy’s friendship Arthur was touched and 
pleased. Mrs. Dudley, who was a widow with this one child, was 
easily induced to change her plans for the summer ; in fact she 
was only too well satisfied to spend the few remaining days in 
which she was to have her boy’s society, at a quiet place like 
Westasket. 


CHAPTER VII. 


It was a very pleasant party that was thus gathered together 
down by the drowsy sea, and the gentle summer days passed only 
too quickly in the idle routine of boating, bathing and fishing. 
Only too quickly, for Arthur and Dudley had been granted but one 
month’s furlough prior to their departure on sea service, and the 
month was almost gone before they were aware of it. In fact the 
impending separation began to affect all of the little party, so that 
it was a relief when finally one morning the mail, which was dis- 
tributed at the breakfast table, contained the dreaded document 
bearing the legend, “Navy Department, Official Business.” The 
major turned the large envelope over, glanced at his wife and then 
handed it to his son with the remark, “ There, young gentleman, 
there is a love letter for you.” 

Mrs. Arlingford grew pale and watched Arthur with a pitiful ex- 
pression as he opened it. Kate exclaiming, “ Oh. Papa ! ” arose 
and went to her brother’s side, and with one arm around his neck, 
read the letter over his shoulder. And when Arthur looked up 
at her presently with an affectation of rebuke, she kissed him and 
returned to her seat. 

“ I am ordered to the ‘ Comet,’ ” said Arthur, handing the com- 
munication to his father. 

“ Where is the ‘ Comet,’ Arthur ? ” asked Kate. 

“ At Charlestown, Kitten,” replied her brother, “ she is fitting 
out for the Mediterranean.” 

‘‘ Well, well,” said the major, with a deprecatory glance at 
his wife, “ I don’t suppose you are expected to ‘ Comet ’ 
once.” 

“Oh, my, what a pun I ” cried Kate. 

“ I could make a better one,” said Arthur, “ about being one of 
the ship’s tars, but I won’t. Would you like to read this billet 
doux, Mrs. Arlingford ? ” 

Whereupon his mother smiled upon him through her tears and 
said, “ Dear boy ! ” 

46 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 47 

“ Come, come," then exclaimed the major, with assumed irri- 
tability, “ are we to have no breakfast at all ! ’’ 

And so the meal was bravely finished. 

“Gertrude says she will be down here in a day or two,’’ said 
Kate presently, holding in her hand a letter which Arthur’s orders 
had crowded from her mind. 

“ Oh, I am so glad,’’ said Mrs. Arlingford, “ I thought they were 
going to the White Mountains this month.’’ 

“ She says that Aunt Mary has had one of her attacks and that 
the doctor thinks the mountain air will be too trying for her. 
'Fhey are coming down with a party on the ‘ Petrel,’ that is Mr. 
Yates’ new yacht.’’ Then glancing at her father who was reading 
a newspaper, Kate added, “ She wants me to go back to Newport 
with her.’’ 

This information eliciting no response from the major, Kate 
looked appealingly at her mother, who, poor soul, ignored her own 
sorrow to give her daughter an encouraging nod.. 

This secret telegraphing was interrupted by Dudley, who, fol- 
lowed by his mother, came over to the table brandishing a letter 
similar to Arthur’s. 

“ Did you get your orders ? ’’ he asked, after greetings had 
been exchanged. 

“Yes,’’ said Arthur, “ to the ‘Comet.’’’ 

“ That is where I go,’’ said Dudley, “ which is a fortunate 
thing for you.’’ 

“ Why, Frank !’’ remonstrated his mother. 

“Well, it is,” said Curley calmly, “I have taken care of him 
long enough to know.” - 

“ I only wish you were like him, Frank,” said his mother. 

“ Oh, come now, mother,” replied Curley, “ you know you think 
I am a great deal nicer than he is ! ” 

And as it was evident to every one that Mrs. Dudley looked 
upon Frank as a paragon, the others laughed as they arose from 
the table, while the major, who was fond of the youngster, as in- 
deed every one was, laid his hand upon his shoulder and said, “ I 
hope you will keep an eye on Arthur, Master Frank.” 

Whereat the boy blushed, being as modest and diffident in the 
presence of his elders, as he was in the presence of women, while 
he looked at the major out of the corners of his big brown eyes to 
see whether that gentleman was “ hazing ” him or not. 

“ I am so glad that jou have got Captain Topman for your 


48 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


captain,” said Mrs. Dudley to Arthur as the walked out on to the 
piazza. 

“ Now, why, mother ? ” said Curley, recovering his assurance. 

“ Because he is like a father to his officers,” said Mrs. Dudley, 

“ Now how absurd that is, Mrs. Dudley ! ” said her son. 

“ Why, no it is not, Frank,” said his mother. 

“ Why, yes it is, you dear thing ; who ever heard of a captain 
being a father to his officers ! ” 

“ Mr. Blunt said he was,” replied his mother plaintively. 

“Mr. Blunt!” retorted Curley contemptuously, “and what does 
Mr'. Blunt know about it ! ” 

“ And what do you know about it ! ” said Arthur, turning on 
Curley. 

“ Crushed again ! ” exclaimed that young gentleman in tragic 
tones. 

“ I have always heard Captain Topman spoken of as a fine officer 
and a thorough gentleman,” continued Arthur, turning to Mrs. 
Dudley, “ and I consider that Frank and I are very lucky in getting 
on his ship.” 

“ Oh, pshaw, now ! ” retorted Curley comically. 

“ And the boat is a good one, is it not ? ” said Mrs. Dudley 
appealingly, to Arthur. “ It is perfectly safe, is it not ? ” she 
added, wistfully laying her hand upon his arm. 

“ Indeed it is,” said Arthur heartily. “ It is said to be the best 
ship in the service.” 

“ I am glad of that,” said Mrs. Dudley, with a little tremor in 
her voice. 

“ See here, mother,” said Dudley, in an altered tone and putting 
his arm around her waist, “ there is no earthly use in your fretting 
about me. As Arley says, the ship is the best and safest in the ser- 
vice and if old Top isn’t much of a father he is no end of a good sea- 
man, and he isn’t going to let anything happen to that ship as long 
as he is on it. So now let us go down to the beach and catch crabs.” 

“ I wish all this was over with and we were out on blue 
water,” thought Arthur to himself as he watched the two walking 
away, Mrs. Dudley evidently weeping, while Curley, who had 
always treated her more as a comrade than as a mother, was en- 
deavoring in his boyish way to comfort her. 

And turning away, Arthur went upstairs to find, as he had ex- 
pected, his own mother indulging her grief, while the major was 
alternately arguing with and petting her in the effort to console her. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


49 


“ Come in, Arthur,” said the latter, “ we were just speaking 
about you. Now then, let us talk the matter over sensibly. 
What day do you think that you had better leave this festive 
scene ? ” 

“Well,” said Arthur, “ I have not thought much about it yet. 
I am ordered to report on or before the seventh, and this is the 
first. Perhaps I had better start the day after to-morrow, as I 
shall want to have a day or two in Boston to get my outfit and ar- 
rangements for the mess all ready.” 

“ Oh, no, not so soon as that ! ” pleaded his mother, who had 
dried her tears to listen to this conversation. 

“ Wait, my dear,” said the major gently, “ let us hear what he 
thinks about it.” 

“ I suppose I could make it a couple of days later,” said Arthur, 
“ only I thought it best to take plenty of time.” 

“ Precisely,” said the major, “ I quite agree with you. It does 
not look well in a young officer to delay obeying an order to the 
last moment. And then besides there is not a particle of use in 
it, for a day more or less with us can make but little difference. 
Now, if I understand it, your ship will not be ready for sea for 
two or three weeks yet ? ” 

“ No,” said Arthur, “ I don’t believe she will.” 

“Very well,” said the major, nodding at him, “now I will tell 
you what we will do. As soon as you have reported, find out 
when your ship will leave and write and let us know. And then, 
if it is not too hot, we will come down to Charlestown and spend a 
week with you before you leave, just to keep you out of mischief 
and see you safely off. What do you say, Catharine ? ” 

And that lady clinging to her husband’s arm gratefully lifts her 
face to his. 

“Well,” said the major, kissing her, “so that is settled. And 
now,” he added, nodding to Arthur, “ I expect your sister is wait- 
ing for you to go boating.” 

Taking the hint Arthur left his mother to regain her composure, 
and calling Kate went down to the beach. 

Arthur told his sister his plans as they walked along, and what 
their father had suggested. From this their talk drifted to Ger- 
trude and her invitation to Kate to visit Newport. 

“ I do think it is so stupid to be poor,” said Kate, looking very 
cross as she leaned over the side of the boat and let her hand 
dabble in the water. 

4 


5 ° 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ It is rather a bore,” assented Arthur, glancing up at the pen- 
nant on the mast as he hauled in a little more of the sheet. 

“ I wonder if papa won’t ever get any richer,” resumed Kate, 
after a short silence. 

“ I am sure I don’t know,” said Arthur, rolling a cigarette and 
leaning back contentedly. 

Kate sat up and drying her hands on her handkerchief, frowned 
as she looked at her brother. Arthur smiled placidly upon her in 
return, whereat Kate laughed and flirted some w'ater upon 
him. 

“ But really, Arthur,” she continued, “ I don’t know whether 
you know it or not, but ever since Uncle Henry’s death we seem 
to be poorer than ever.” 

“ No,” said Arthur, “ I did not know it. How does it happen ? 
I have not heard of papa’s losing any money.” 

“ No,” said Kate, “nor I. But mamma says we must econo- 
mize, and when I asked her why, she said that she believed that 
papa had been losing money on some investment, she did not 
know, and that we must not talk about it. But that is the reason 
why we came to this stupid little place instead of going to New- 
port.” 

“ Why,” said Arthur, “ I should think you would like it here 
better than at Newport.” 

“ Well, I don’t,” said Kate. “ But it is not only that. For the 
last few months I cannot go anywhere or do anything but that I 
am told that papa cannot afford this or that. It is such a miser- 
able thing not to be able to do what you want without first stop- 
ping to count how much money it will cost. Now, I suppose we 
shall always have to come down to this or some other stupid 
place every summer, when all our friends are at Saratoga, or New- 
port, and pretend that we like it better, at least I do, when 
everybody knows it is because we can’t afford to go anywhere else. 
I know it is mean to pretend that, and I hate myself for it, but 
when some of these women commence talking about their money 
and say, with such an insufferable air, ‘You must find it very 
quiet at Westasket, do you really prefer it to Long Branch ? Of 
course it is not nearly so expensive ! ' I just grit my teeth and 
say, ‘ yes, I do prefer it ! ’ That is the way they talk,” continued 
Kate, earnestly, as she observed her brother smile. “ You don’t 
know. It is different with you men. You don’t seem to care 
anything about money. I wish I was a man ! ” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


51 


“ What would you do if you were a man ? ” said Arthur. 

“ I would make some money,” answered Kate, promptly, 

“ How ? ” said Arthur. “ If you tell me I will divvy with 
you.” 

“Well,” said Kate, nodding her head and laughing despite her- 
self, “ I know I could. There is that dear old mother of ours,” 
she continued, earnestly, “she tries to give me everything I want, 
and fixes things and manages for me and never spends a cent on 
herself now. If papa gives her money to buy a new dress with, 
she turns one of her old ones and spends the money on me. And 
papa always finds her out and thinks it is mean of me to let her 
do it, I know he does. And I take everything she gives me, and 
then I am cross with her because I can’t have all I want.” 

And Kate, gazing down into the water, surreptitiously brushed 
the tears from her eyes. Arthur meanwhile looked at his sister 
rather puzzled. Both his mother and Kate always appeared 
handsomely dressed and seemed to have all they desired, so 
that this sudden revelation by the latter as to ways and means 
rather perplexed him. 

“ I say, Kitten,” he finally remarked, “ if you ever want money 
you should come to me. I can nearly always let you have 
some if you only let me know in time.” 

“ No, you dear old boy,” said Kate, looking up with a little 
laugh, “don’t you understand that I am extravagant.^ All the 
money in the world would not satisfy me ! I want money, but 
I want four or five millions.” 

“ I don’t think I have that much with me,” said Arthur, making 
a pretence of feeling in his vest pocket. 

At which Kate laughed, and said, “ Oh, I was only put out 
about something ; don’t let us talk about it any more. I wonder 
when Gertrude will be down ; she said they were going to start 
at once.” And then, after a pause, as she resumed her occupa- 
tion of leaning over the side of the boat and letting her hand 
trail in the water, she continued, “ Arthur, do you like Gertrude 
as much as you used to ? ” 

“Why, certainly,” he replied, in some surprise. 

“ She has changed a good deal,” said Kate, “ don’t you think 
so ? ” 

“ Undoubtedly,” said Arthur. “ She has become a woman.” 

“ And she has grown so lovely,” continued Kate. “ If I were a 
man I would fall in love with her/’ 


52 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ You would find that easier than making money,” said Arthur, 
dryly. 

“ Why,” said Kate, still looking over the side, “ you have not 
fallen in love with her, have you } ” 

“ Me ! ” exclaimed Arthur, “ it would be very absurd for me to 
fall in love with any one.” 

“ Why } ” said Kate. 

“ Because,” he replied, “ I have not got money enough to take 
care of myself.” 

“ Pooh ! ” exclaimed Kate with a royal contempt for the financial 
side of the question, somewhat inconsistent with her previous con- 
fession. And then suddenly sitting up, she cried, “ Why, Arthur, 
how hard the wind is blowing ! ” 

“ Sit still,” said her brother, as she betrayed an inclination to 
climb on to the weather side of the boat, “ we are laying pretty 
close up, that’s all. Hello ! ” he added, “ there’s a yacht off 
there. I wonder if that can be the ‘ Sea Gull ’ or ‘ Pelican,’ or 
whatever Yates calls his old boat.” 

‘‘ It is not an old one,” said Kate ; “ he has just bought it.” 

“ I wonder what he bought it for,” said Arthur. “ He is the last 
man I should pick out for a yachtsman. When did Gertrude say 
they were going to start } ” 

“ I don’t remember,” said Kate, “ I think I have the letter 
here. Mercy ! Arthur,” she exclaimed as a wave broke against 
the side of the boat. “ I am afraid ! ” 

“ There is nothing to be afraid of,” said her brother; “ I will let 
her go off a little.” 

“ Please do,” said Kate, “ let her do anything she wants so 
that she won’t tip us over. Here is the letter, dated the twenty- 
ninth and she says they will start the next morning, that is yester- 
day.” 

“ Then I should not be at all surprised if that was her,” said 
Arthur. “ They have had a fair wind.” 

“ Where } ” exclaimed Kate, staring around. 

“Just off here,” said Arthur, “ where I am pointing. Not there, 
goosey! Off here. Now do you see her.? Shall we run down 
and meet them .? ” 

“ Yes,” said Kate, “ if it won’t make the boat lean over.” 

Putting his helm up, Arthur ran down before the wind to meet 
the stranger who was evidently making for Westasket Cove. 

“ She is a pretty boat,” he said as they neared each other. “ It 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 53 

is the ‘ Petrel * sure enough. He has got a good sailing master. 
There is Gertrude, aft, do you see her ? ” 

Then there was a great waving of handkerchiefs and hats as 
the little schooner yacht came sweeping by in graceful speed, 
leaving them bobbing up and down in the short waves. 

“ Well, upon my w'ord, if there isn’t Duke Langdon aboard of 
her,” said Arthur. “ I wonder what has brought him down 
here ? ” and he looked reflectively at Kate. 

“ How should I know ? ” said that young lady drawing herself 
up with an affectation of dignity. Then with a little laugh and a 
blush as she caught Arthur’s eye, she exclaimed, “ You are a 
goosey, yourself ! ” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Having rather an unhappy disposition at the best of times, it 
was certainly a cruel fate which overtook Yates when he fell in 
love — and, too, with such a woman as Gertrude Alden ! Young', 
beautiful, refined and intelligent, she was the centre of attraction 
for the best men in society. What chance had he ? Loving her 
furiously, with all the warping force of his peculiar nature, he no 
doubt tortured himself in this pursuit in which Mrs. Arlingford 
had started him. For it was in just such circumstances that his 
deficiencies would most make themselves felt. He had not the 
first attribute of what is known as a “ lady’s man,” as he himself 
had said. In fact, he was most impracticable in society. Young 
women did not care for his prattle about himself and his posses- 
sions, unless indeed he praised these wares in the matrimonial 
way. He did not dance, and in fact could offer them nothing in 
exchange for their society. Men like Langdon, with high-bred, 
easy self-possession, and a faculty of always doing and saying the 
right thing, w^ere a constant irritation to Yates. What chance 
had he with Gertrude in the presence of such gallants ? And yet 
he sought their presence, and by reason of his belligerent temper 
and reputed wealth maintained a sort of standing with them. 
Langdon’s society he especially affected. Whether he hated him or 
admired him most, was questionable. When with Langdon he 
invariably appealed to him by word or look for confirmation, or 
approval of his remarks. And when that imperturbable young 
gentleman would reply, as he sometimes did, with exasperating 
coolness, “Yes!” or “Do you think so.^” Yates would eagerly 
modify his assertion until he had fitted it to such shape as would 
suit Langdon’s indifferent front. At such times he had an eager, 
wistful look in his eyes, such as may be seen in the eyes of an in- 
telligent dog when he is at fault. 

Mr. Yates had appeared at Newport shortly after Gertrude’s 
arrival. As he w^as rich, and as Mrs. Arlingford had taken him 
under her patronage, society generally adopted him. The secret 

54 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


55 


of his passion for Gertrude very quickly became kno'wn to every 
one at Newport, excepting, indeed, to Gertrude herself. Yates’ 
composition contained no trace of policy. He openly haunted 
those places where Gertrude appeared, standing around, biting 
his nails, and with such an anxious, unhappy look upon his face as 
won him the derisive commiseration of his acquaintances. As 
has been said, Gertrude alone was ignorant of this homage. Mr. 
Yates was to her a middle-aged gentleman (although he was but 
thirty-four), one of her guardians or trustees, or something, and a 
great friend of her Aunt Mary’s. Why should not Mr. Yates be 
frequently with them under such circumstances ? She had known 
him ever since she was a little child, and if any would-be witty 
acquaintance hinted at the existence of any other sentiment than 
that of friendship in Mr. Yates’ breast, Gertrude regarded it as a 
very stupid sort of pleasantry, and in very bad taste. And that 
was all. She soon became accustomed to his frequent informal 
visits to her aunt, and habituated to his presence. When she was 
with him she tried to entertain him ; this was a duty she owed to 
her aunt’s friend. But they had nothing in common, and if any 
of her own immediate acquaintances came at such times to claim 
her for a dance, a ride or a walk, she never had the slightest 
hesitation in excusing herself to Mr. Yates. She was completely 
ignorant of the effect such a line of conduct had upon him, 
although it may sometimes have occurred to her that he was a 
little odd or abrupt in his manner toward her. How should she 
know that every such disregard of his secret pretensions, that 
every little smile bestowed by her upon others, every word, every 
look of which he was deprived, was hungrily begrudged, and 
stirred up within his breast a nest of serpents, self-love, jealousy, 
hatred and despair, to prey upon his heart and drive him to soli- 
tary brooding until his passion again forced him to seek her 
society. As little did she guess that her innocent conduct was the 
cause of the pale, careworn appearance of her aunt’s face, for 
the self-constituted confidante of Mr. Yates’ love affair looked ill, 
there was no doubt of that. In the excitement and distress con- 
sequent upon the shocking revelation made to her by her husband 
on his death bed, in the urgent need to take instant and decisive 
action to conceal his dishonor, she had not counted the cost. Not 
that it would at the moment have deterred her. But now, after six 
months had elapsed, she began to realize what her bargain meant 
— that she had compacted with the devil by placing herself in a 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


S6 

weak man’s power. The ardent lover had no thought of sparing 
her who had lured him on to this amorous pursuit. She, and she 
alone, was the recipient of his complaints when his mistress was 
indifferent. To her alone fell the task of consoling and encourag- 
ing him, of bearing up under the storm of despair that sometimes 
made Yates’ mental heavens black as a stormy midnight ; to her 
alone was it given to endure the voluble regrets and reproaches 
which he poured forth as he bemoaned the day he had allowed 
himself to contemplate the possibility of winning Gertrude’s love. 
And, worst of all, perhaps, having quieted these temporary emo- 
tions and given him valuable counsel from her store of worldly 
knowledge and comprehension of a woman’s heart, having out- 
lined for him a course of action likely to win some slight regard 
from the object of his passion, and gain relief for him and her ; to 
her was it given to know the bitterness of having a timorous, 
unstable, and yet headstrong fool for an ally, who, despite his 
promises, feared and failed miserably to carry her counsel into 
execution, feebly taking refuge in some little device of his own 
conceiving, such as adding one more to the long list of costly pres- 
ents, which Gertrude almost invariably declined. No wonder that 
Mrs. Arlingford looked pale and careworn, given over to a degrad- 
ing bondage to a man himself the bond-servant of his evil genius. 
Proud, intelligent and refined, she was the slave of a slave. Al- 
ready she longed for liberty as the captive in a dungeon longs for 
light and air, for the man in his supreme egotism simply kept her 
on the rack by his complaints and reproaches, by his continual 
allusions to the husband, to guard whose honor she had become 
his servant. And each day, as she gained an insight of his char- 
acter, the fact that she had bound herself to sacrifice all that she 
had left in the world to love, to sacrifice Gertrude to him as in 
their enforced intimacy she now knew him, bore upon her heart 
with an ever-increasing dread. A thousand times she declared to 
herself that she would not consummate their agreement — that she 
would withdraw from the compact and let Mr. Yates do his worst. 
But always her rebellion ended in her sinking on her knees and 
praying ostensibly to God, but, in fact, to the dead husband who 
had left her this heritage of woe, praying to him for forgiveness in 
that she had faltered in her task, and declaring with passionate 
vows that she would yet guard his sacred name from obloquy. 
With what sophistry she convinced herself that she was doing 
what was right in continuing her course, that she was justified in 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


57 


marrying Gertrude to Mr. Yates, that he was in fact a most desir- 
able husband for the girl, that she, Mrs. Arlingford, was only weak 
and nervous, and so calmly riveting anew her chains, heaven only 
knows ! But the next morning she had a smile for Gertrude at 
the breakfast table, and a cordial greeting for that early morning 
visitor, Mr. Yates. 

During their stay at Newport, Mrs. Arlingford and Gertrude 
had several times been guests aboard Mr. Yates’ yacht ; and when 
one day Yates proposed making up a party for a more extended 
cruise, and asked Gertrude where she would like to go, she sug- 
gested paying a visit to her relatives at Westasket. Yates did not 
follow up the suggestion with that cheerful alacrity which charac- 
terized his reception of most of Gertrude’s wishes, but, as Mrs. 
Arlingford gave it her approval, the proposition took shape. On 
these seafaring occasions Mrs. Arlingford generally assumed the 
necessary social duties, advising Mr. Yates whom to invite and 
superintending the details of the cabin accommodations. In fact, 
Yates had about as little of the pleasure of being host as he had 
of being a yachtsman, for, not knowing one rope from another, 
either in society or aboard a boat, he was entirely in the hands of 
his sailing masters. Not that he was always complaisant, either. 
Occasionally, when matters did not progress to suit him, he would 
develop a determination to have his own way that bore down all 
opposition with a sullen disregard of appearances that was simply 
irresistible. Gertrude was generally the unwitting cause of these 
moods, and the devices which her aunt resorted to for keeping 
her in ignorance of the real reasons for the abrupt termination of 
some of their cruises, were marvels of ingenuity. Yates was 
always very penitent after such displays of Bis mastery, and prodi- 
gal in promises never to offend again if Mrs. Arlingford would 
overlook them, and once more be his guest aboard the “ Petrel.” 
So, Mrs. Arlingford, of course, overlooked them. 

Gertrude had anticipated this excursion to Westasket with great 
pleasure. On their way down the sound she was delighted with 
the boat, revelled in the sunshine, and enchanted Mr. Yates by 
receiving his attentions with the utmost kindness. It was a merry 
party then that Kate and Arthur found congregated on the 
veranda of the hotel after they had landed. 

“ How on earth do you happen to be cruising in these waters ? ” 
said Arthur to Langdon, after the ladies had disappeared in 
charge of Kate and her mother. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


58 

“ Old Yates asked me to come down,” said Langdon, with his 
customary sententiousness, “ and, as I thought it would be a good 
chance to see you fellows before you sailed, I came.” 

“ Have you got your orders ? ” said Dudley. 

“No,” said Langdon, “I have resigned.” 

“ Resigned ! ” exclaimed Arthur, “ the deuce you have ! May I 
ask what that was for.^ ” 

“ Well, principally because my father was in need of a compan- 
ion,” said Langdon, “ and he wanted me to fill the bill.” 

“Quite right!” said Dudley, approvingly; “always do what 
your father desires, and you will never regret it. You don’t hap- 
pen to know of any other fathers in need of a companion, do 
you ? ” 

“ No,” said Langdon, rolling a cigarette. 

“ Because,” continued Dudley, “ I would like a situation like 
that. Wages no object, a home being desired, use of the parlor 
one evening in the week, and Sundays to myself. You know we 
are ordered to the ‘ Comet,’ I suppose ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Langdon, “ I saw it in the papers. When do you 
start 

“ I start the day after to-morrow,” said Dudley ; “ Arley has 
not made up his mind when he will leave.” 

“ There is a lady at Newport who told me to tell you that she 
expects you. to say good-by before you sail, Arley.” 

‘‘ Who is that } ” said Arthur. 

“ Mrs. Merrin,” replied Langdon, curling a thin ribbon of smoke 
around his black moustache. “ She is having a fine time with a 
lot of young Englishmen at the Ocean House. Merrin comes up 
from New York Saturday and goes back Monday. As nice a 
fellow as ever lived. By the way, why don’t you come with us on 
the yacht ? ” 

“ Well,” said Arthur, with a short laugh, “ I doubt if Yates wdll 
ask me ; and I don’t know that I should go if he did. We don’t 
love each other.” 

“ No,” said Langdon. “ He hasn’t many friends. He will ask 
you, though ; he is hospitable enough. I understood Miss Alden 
to say that your sister was going back with her. Is it settled ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Arthur ; “ I believe there was some talk 
of it.” 

That evening the same subject was broached by Gertrude, as 
she and Arthur stood together on the veranda after dinner. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 59 

“ Uncle Tom says that Kate can go back with us on the yacht ; 
did she tell you ? ” said Gertrude. 

“ No,” said Arthur ; “ I am glad to hear it, though ; she will 
enjoy it.” 

“ Yes,” said Gertrude, “ I think she will. Can you not go with 
us, too ? I know Kate is anxious to have you. Or, would you 
care to go ? ” 

“ I should like to go very much,” said Arthur, “ especially as it 
is the last chance I shall have of seeing you. Only—” he added, 
hesitating. 

“ Only what ? ” said Gertrude. 

“ Mr. Yates and I are not very intimate, and, as I presume he 
he will have as many guests now as he can accommodate, I would 
not like to inconvenience him.” 

“ Oh,” said Gertrude, indifferently, “ that will be all right. 
Aunt Mary will arrange it.” 

And the next morning Mr. Yates gave Arthur the necessary 
invitation. As Arthur had said there was little friendship between 
them, a mutual animosity dating back from the days when Arthur 
was a self-assertive boy and Yates a sensitive youth, the former 
making the latter’s existence a burden to him on the occasions of 
his visits to Washington, had not been softened by the lapse of 
time. But, although Arthur was disinclined to accept Yates’ hos- 
pitality, he was pleased and flattered at Gertrude’s interesting her- 
self in the matter, even though it was at Kate’s instance, and he 
was moreover desirous of passing a few hours in her company 
before departing on a three years’ cruise. So he finally decided to 
accept Yates’ offer. Whether Yates had anticipated Arthur’s 
declining his invitation, or whether having given it, he at once 
regretted it, deeming it probable that the trip back would not be 
as pleasant with Arthur as without him, it is certain he did not 
respond very cheerfully, and even suggested that perhaps their 
arrangements might not suit Arthur’s convenience. Arthur was 
quite sure, however, that they would. Whereupon Yates took the 
first opportunity of mentioning the subject to Gertrude. 

“ I suppose you know,” he said, “ that I have asked your cousin 
Arthur to go back with us ? ” 

“ Have you ? ” said Gertrude. “ That will be pleasant.” 

“Yes,” assented Yates, smiling dubiously, “although I should 
not think he would care for yachting, going to sea so soon.” 

“ I am sure I don’t know,” said Gertrude, indifferently. “ Oh, 


Go 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


see what a pretty gull,” she added, as one of those birds swooped 
by them like a fleck of foam. 

“ Yes,” said Yates, “ it is very pretty. Of course,” he con- 
tinued, “ if we should be delayed going back it would not make 
any difference to him, would it ? ” 

'• To whom ? ” said Gertrude. 

“To Arthur,” replied Yates. 

“ Oh,” said Gertrude. “ I am sure I don’t know. Why, what 
should delay us ? ” 

“ Well,” replied Yates, “ he has to join his ship on the seventh, 
and we might be becalmed, you know. And then I thought it 
would be nice to stop over a day or two at Seaside.” 

“ Did you ? ” said Gertrude, “ I had not heard of that.” 

“ Well,” said Yates, stooping to pick up a pebble and throwing 
it into the water to cover his embarrassment, “ I thought it would 
be pleasant. I guess,” he added, as though the thought had just 
occurred to him, “ I guess I had better tell Arthur. It might 
make a difference to him.” 

Then Gertrude turned and glanced at him curiously. After a 
few moments’ silence she said, “ I am afraid, Mr. Yates, that you 
are being inconvenienced by having so many of us on the ‘ Petrel.’ 
Aunt Catharine is very anxious to have me stay with her for a 
week or two, and, although I had not quite decided, I think per- 
haps it will be as well. Kate does not care very much about 
going to Newport — she would rather have me stay here with her.” 

Yates stopped short, and gazed at Gertrude with an anxious 
startled look ; then, breaking forth with eager volubility, he said, 
“ But you won’t do that ? Your aunt said that you would go back 
with me if we came , she told me so before we started. There is 
nothing to stay here for, and as for my being inconvenienced, you 
know there is plenty of room on the yacht, and then we can 
always put cots in the saloon for the gentlemen, and I will see to 
it that Ropes gets back in plenty of time for Arthur to join his 
ship ; he has to do what I tell him, or I’ll get another sailing mas- 
ter, that's all ! Arthur can get to Newport as quick in the yacht 
as by rail. So why can’t you all come back with me as you said 
you would ? I asked Arthur to go just as soon as your aunt 
spoke of it, because she said that you would like it, and Miss Kate, 
too. You will go, won’t you?” And Yates awaited her reply 
with an anxious, appealing look. 

A month ago Gertrude would have laughed at this sudden 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


6l 


change of front brought about as it had been by a word, but now 
she felt vaguely displeased and dissatisfied with herself and her 
surroundings. She was annoyed that her aunt should have men- 
tioned her name in connection with Arthur’s invitation, and 
although at the time she had spoken she had little idea of not 
returning with Mr. Yates, now she was tempted to remain in good 
earnest. To his repeated and urgent importunities, however, she 
finally answered that if he was quite sure that he would not be 
inconvenienced, the arrangement should stand as it was. Secretly 
she regretted having had Arthur invited to accompany them, for 
clearly he was an unwelcome guest, and she resented the fact. 
At one moment she had it in mind to tell him to decline the invi- 
tation, but an instant’s thought showed her how undesirable that 
course would be, whereupon she became irritated, and hardly 
spoke to Mr. Yates, and was scarcely more agreeable to Arthur, 
allowing Dudley to monopolize her time and attention, much to 
that young gentlemen’s gratification. 

Dudley took exception to Arthur’s desertion of him, as he char- 
acterized this projected trip to Newport. Calling his attention to 
the fact that he, Dudley, had sacrificed his visit to Newport to 
spend the summer at Westasket, he demanded, with an assump- 
tion of aggressiveness, to be informed whether or not he was 
being treated squarely. 

“ 1 don’t know,” he said, “ how you look at it, but it seems to 
me that I am getting left.” 

“ I don’t think you are,” said Arthur. “ Didn’t you tell me that 
you would have to go home before joining, and so why shouldn’t 
1 go to Newport } ” 

“ That is all very fine,” grumbled Curley, “ but it would not 
have made any difference even if I had not intended going home, 
you would have gone on that old tub anyway ! ” 

“ How do you know I would.? ” said Arthur. 

“ Well, you would, wouldn’t you ? ” replied Dudley. 

“ No, I would not,” said Arthur. 

“ Well, why didn’t you say so .? ” retorted Dudley. “ That was 
all I wanted to know ! ” 

“ You ninny ! ” exclaimed Arthur, laughing and jamming Cur- 
ley’s hat down over his eyes. 

" I am an ass, that’s a fact,” said Curley, leaning his head back 
to look at Arthur from under the brim. 


CHAPTER IX. 


The yacht “ Petrel ” was lying at anchor off Shell Beach, awaiting 
the turn of the tide. Tt was dusk and rapidly becoming dark, but, 
under promise of a full moon, the ladies were all on deck, seated 
in camp chairs or on piles of cushions, scattered about, while the 
gentlemen disposed in easy attitudes, had found the places that 
suited them best. There was a quiet witchery in the silently 
descending night, in the stillness unbroken except by the “ lap- 
lap ” of the water around the sides of the boat, or the distant 
splash and rattle of a cable, or voices, or the bark of a dog as 
some belated fishing schooner came to anchor to await the turning 
of the tide. The great vault above was empty, except for one 
lonely star standing like a sentinel over the banished sun. 
Presently another star slowly appeared in the east, and then 
another, and another, until, hurrying in from north, south, east and 
west, they soon crowded the dark blue dome, all twinkling and 
flashing, until the last tardy comer had bustled into place. Then 
suddenly there seemed to come a hush over the vast throng as a 
weird signal was flung out in the east, and presently their sover- 
eign, the moon, uprose, slowly, majestically, all streaming with 
light. 

“ There is the moon ! ” said Yates, breaking the silence induced 
in the others by the scene. 

“Oh!” said Gertrude, with an impatient sigh, “one would 
think he had made it rise.” 

“ Some men are born showmen,” said Langdon, who was 
seated near her. 

“ Arthur,” continued Gertrude, “ why are you so unsociable } ” 

Arthur was leaning on the rail, smoking his pipe, a little apart 
from the others. Perhaps Gertrude knew that she had not given 
him encouragement during the day to be otherwise than 
unsociable, but her irritation had subsided now, and she chose to 
ignore the fact. Arthur knocked the ashes from his pipe and sat 
down on a coil of rope near her, saying lightly, “ I was burning 

62 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 63 

incense to the divinity of the night.” Then adding, “ Duke, sing 
us a song.” 

A request which was immediately seconded by the ladies on the 
other side of the deck. 

“ I can’t sing,” said Langdon, lazily. “ I don’t know anything 
but class songs. You sing.” 

“ Come, don’t be bashful,” said Arthur. “ Kate, where is your 
guitar ? ” 

“Sing ‘The Sailor’s Wife.’” said Kate, handing him her guitar. 

“ But that is so doleful,” said Langdon ; “ it is a regular heart- 
breaker.” 

“Sing it,” said Kate, peremptorily; “it is just the sort of a 
night to have one’s heart broken.” 

“ Well, we will sing the first and third verses, as they do in 
church,” said Langdon. 

‘‘ No,” said Kate, “ we want it all.” 

“ Every line ? ” said Langdon. 

“ Every line,” said Kate. 

Whereupon, touching a few minor chords on the guitar, Lang- 
don sang in a good tenor voice, to a plaintive air, the following 
song: 


THE SAILOR’S WIFE. 

Again slow and measured the tread 
Of his foot on the floor 1 

* * * * jie dt 

He yesterday said. 

As the tears in my eyes 
Brought his arms round my neck, 

’Twas his old trick of ‘ planking the deck,’ 
Nothing more ! 

By a smile he thinks to beguile me, 

But my love is too wise. 


This enduring unhappiness 
Shaped into sound, 

Echoes dull in my heart 
And awakes with a start 
Angry love, hate and fear. 

Hate ! ah ! how I hate thee, oh Sea. 
For thus calling my love of a year 
Back to thee ! 


64 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Salt tears that are mine 
Awake not such grace 
As one drop of thy brine, 

Careless, dashed in his face ; 

The calm swell of thy bosom 
Would to him dearer be 
Than the throbbing of mine — 

Mine 1 ’Twas I drew him from thee! 

He gave me his love. 

But thou, by thine art, 

Had transformed his heart 
To a strange sea shell 
Wherein thou dost dwell. 

And, when still and alone. 

He’ll list to thy tone. 

And yearn for thee 
At thy murmur, 

Oh Sea! 

Take him then, it must be ; 

At thy weird wanton call 
I know he will leave all in all, 

Even me. 

For his life is thy power, 

Mine was for an hour. 

He is thine, not mine. 

Oh Sea ! 

I hate, yes hate thee, yet fear. 

For, in thy fatal embrace, 

I know full soon shall 1 hear 
What I dread — 

The wash of thy wave on his face. 

On his face when he’s dead, i 

Oh Sea! 

While the customary thanks and compliments were being 
uttered at the conclusion of this melancholy ditty, Arthur observed 
that Gertrude shivered slightly, and, getting up, he wrapped a 
shawl around her shoulders. She looked up and thanked him 
with a smile, and moved her drapery to make room for him 
beside her. 

“ I don’t like that song,” she said. “ I wish he had not sung 
it.” 

And Arthur remembering her fearful experience on the ocean 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


65 

when she was a little child, and her loss, the impression of which 
had never left her, said comfortingly, “ I would not think of it. 
What a glorious night it is ; I suppose all of Newport is out driv- 
ing in the moonlight ! ” 

“Are you glad that you are going to sea.^^” said Gertrude, 
without seconding his attempt to divert her thoughts. “ Is it a 
pleasant life } ” 

“ Well, yes,” he answered, “ it is pleasant enough if you have a 
nice lot of fellows aboard.” 

“I suppose that makes a great difference,” said Gertrude. 
“You must get very tired of each other on along cruise. Then, 
too, I am beginning to think there are not very many nice people 
in the world.” 

“ Well, there are not very many,” said Arthur. “ When you 
come to think of it, there are very few people one really cares 
for.” 

“ Oh, I care about a great many,” said Gertrude, “ but that is 
through what Mr. Dudley would call force of circumstances. But 
I mean people that you meet every day. You so rarely find any 
one whom you care to talk to or even see a second time. Some* 
times,” she added, “ you do meet a person who says something or 
looks something that goes deeper than usual, and it is so 
pleasant.” 

“ A sort of an affinity ” suggested Arthur, secretly speculating 
as to who it was among Gertrude’s acquaintances had said or 
looked “ something ” that went deeper than usual. 

“ I suppose so,” said Gertrude, reflectively, without apparently 
considering the word. Then, looking up, she continued, “ I 
know that sometimes when I have heard a great singer or a great 
actor, or have read some striking author, I have longed to meet 
the man himself. And it has always been in a very humble spirit, 
with a feeling that he could tell me something or do something 
for me that I very much wanted— something new and great. But 
they are always disappointing. They rarely ever even come up to 
the standard of clever people one meets in society.” 

“ Perhaps a part of the trouble lies with you,” said Arthur. 
“ You know you always did have a faculty of creating an ideal out 
of a very little. I recollect how often I secretly rebelled, as a boy, 
because I felt that I was being weighed in your scales and found 
wanting, when I was really doing my best according to my 
lights.” 

5 


66 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Did you ? ” said Gertrude, gently. “ But you were very nice 
— as a boy.” 

• “Thank you,” said Arthur, laughing; “that is something. I 
remember,” he continued, “ my father telling us how, when he 
was out on the plains, he would often mistake a sand-hill crane 
near by for a horseman in the distance. I am afraid all your 
cavaliers will turn out sand-hill cranes, Gertrude.” 

“ Do you really think so } ” she said, seriously. 

“ I really do,” replied Arthur, solemnly. “ But then,” he added, 
consolingly, “ my father said sand-hill cranes were very good to 
eat when you could get nothing better.” 

“ Well,” said Gertrude, laughing, “ as you say, ‘ that is some- 
thing.’ ” 

For a few minutes they sat silently looking at the reflection of 
the moonlight on the water, where it glinted and sparkled as 
though stars were being rained on it. The stillness of the warm 
summer night was undisturbed ; the low tones of those convers- 
ing on the other side of the deck, and the lapping of the water, 
seeming a part of the silence. 

“ What are you thinking of ? ” said Arthur, presently. 

“ I was thinking about that song Mr. Langdon sang. Do you 
think you will like your profession ? Are you glad you are going 
to sea ? ” 

“ On some accounts, yes,” said Arthur. 

“ I don’t think I should like to be a sailor,” said Gertrude. 
“ Sometimes when I was crossing the Atlantic I would positively 
hate the ocean, yes, ‘ hate and fear it,’ especially on a night like 
this, leaning over the side and looking at the black water — it was 
so deep and so dark and so treacherous. I can understand how 
that woman felt in the song,” she added, with a little nervous 
laugh at her own vehemence. 

“ You are not afraid, now, are you. Nixie ? ” said Arthur, com- 
fortingly, using a pet name Gertrude had been known by as a 
little child. 

“Oh, I don’t mind it now,” she said, “and I did not mind it 
then when it stormed. Once when we had a terrible gale every- 
body in the cabin was praying, but I crept on deck in my water- 
proof and let the spray go over me and the wind tear me to pieces 
till the captain found me and made me go down-stairs again. 
But often, when the water has been dark and still, and I would 
look down at it, I would get scared and go into my stateroom and 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


67 


pray. I always felt so little and so helpless all alone out there, 
and was so glad that I had some one to pray to. I don’t know 
what I should have done if it had not been for that.” After a 
moment’s silence, she added, “ Do men ever pray ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Arthur, “some do.” 

“ Do you ? ” said Gertrude. 

“ No,” he replied, hesitatingly, somewhat taken aback by the 
question. “ I can’t say that I do.” 

“ Why not ? ” she said. “ You used to when you were little.” 

“ Well,” said Arthur, “ I lost my faith somewhat, in late years.” 

“ What a pity ! ” said Gertrude. “ Tell me how.” 

“ If you really want to know,” he answered, “ I found that after 
I had been at the college a year or so, a good deal of what I had 
been taught to believe implicitly was contrary to what I was learn- 
ing of the state of affairs in the universe generally. This sort of 
thing kept increasing until I found that my faith was going by the 
board. It was just as though the ground was giving away under 
my feet, and I acknowledge I was pretty badly scared at first. I 
took to reading everything I could find on the subject, but that 
did not help me at all. I did not dare to say anything about it to 
anyone, because I thought I had made an alarming discovery that 
no one had ever thought of before, and that would upset society 
generally and plunge the world into darkness and chaos.” And 
Arthur smiled at the recollection. “ Finally,” he continued, “ I 
made up my mind to tell my father all about it.” 

“ And what did he say ? ” asked Gertrude, with great interest, 
as Arthur paused. 

“ Well,” said Arthur, “ it did not have the effect I expected. In 
fact, he did not seem very much surprised or very greatly struck 
with my discovery of the fallacy of religion. In fact, I could not 
get him to say much about it, one way or the other. He just told 
me that it was something every man had to work out for himself, 
or, as he expressed it, every one must ‘ dree his own weird.’ He 
did not even let me know what he believed or disbelieved ; if he 
had I would immediately have believed and disbelieved the same 
thngs. Perhaps he knew that. As it was, I went drifting along 
in a vague sort of way, but all the time I held on to the habit of 
saying my prayers. The truth was, I was afraid to stop. It was 
like letting slip my last cable. Then finally it occurred to me that 
it was not exactly honest to keep up the form, when my heart 
was not in it, just through fear. Whatever I was, I did not 


68 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


propose to be a hypocrite. So one night when I knelt down I just 
stated the case to whatever God there might be and the reason, 
why I was going to stop, and that is the last prayer I ever said. 
Are you shocked ? ” he added, looking up in her face. 

“ No,” said Gertrude, after a little silence. “ I believe that God 
will think none the less of you for being honest. . But then,” she 
added hurriedly, “ I am not capable of talking to you about it. I 
wish I was. Perhaps I ought to be shocked, and ought to try to 
make you think differently, but I can’t. I believe in it myself. I 
have faith, notwithstanding that I often doubt, and sometimes 
think that I believe, because I am afraid not to believe. I should 
never dare to stop saying my prayers. I don’t know what would 
become of me if I had no one to pray to. But always when I am 
troubled with doubts something comes to my relief, something- 
above and beyond my reasoning and my understanding. I think 
it is the mystery of it all. If we could know and comprehend 
everything about the next life it would necessarily be common- 
place and open to criticism, and perhaps full of disappointment, 
as this life is. Would it not ? But as long as it is a mystery 
it is grand and full of promise. I don’t know,” said Gertrude, 
her face lit up with thoughtful animation as she sat with the moon- 
light full upon her, gazing over the water, “ I don’t know that I 
can explain what I mean.” 

“ I understand,’*’ said Arthur, gently. 

“ Then again,” said Gertrude, after a pause, “ why do you sup- 
pose it is that some people are tried more than others ? Why are 
we not all tried and tempted alike } Then there would be some 
justice in condemning those who fail. As it is now, some who 
are tempted very hard do something wrong, and all the others 
who have not been tempted at all can’t find enough severe things 
to say of them. Poor Uncle Henry used to say that I had more 
sympathy for the unrighteous than for the righteous. And some- 
times I wonder if it is because I shall be found wanting if I am 
tried. That thought always frightens me, and makes me feel like 
saying my prayers. How do you keep good if you have no reli- 
gion ? ” 

“Who, me?” said Arthur. “I am not good. That is,” he 
added, with a laugh, “ I don’t mean that I am a ‘ bold, bad man,’ 
or anything of that sort, only I don’t think I am good ; in fact, I 
know I am not.” 

“ Don’t say that,” she said, reproachfully. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


69 


“ At any rate,” replied Arthur, “ religion never helped me in 
that way. So long as a man is a gentleman, that includes most 
of the Christian virtues. A gentleman won’t lie or steal or slan- 
der or take advantage of the weak and helpless ; more than that, 
he will always be ready to fight for the right whenever he is called 
upon. The only difference that I can see between a Christian, a 
true Christian, I mean, and a true gentleman, like my father, for 
instance, is that the Christian lives a good life in the hope of a 
reward hereafter, while the unbelieving gentleman does what is 
right and noble because he is a gentleman, and there is an end of 
it as far as he personally is concerned.” 

“ I don’t like you to believe that,” said Gertrude. 

“ No ? ” said Arthur, “ then we won’t talk of it any more.” 

“ It all sounds so hopeless,” she said. “ I wish I could make 
you think differently.” 

“ I wish you could,” said Arthur. “You always were a dear 
little girl to me, and if anyone could help me to be good it would 
be you. You used to, you know, when I was little and said my 
prayers,” he added, looking up with a smile. 

In the shadow of her wraps Gertrude slipped her hand in his, 
and in that instant, as their eyes met, Arthur’s heart was suddenly 
overflowed with a great desire to be pure and good. 


CHAPTER X. 


After the arrival of the “ Petrel ” at Newport, the yachting 
party separated. Mrs. Arlingford, who, as has been said, was 
occupying the cottage of a friend who had gone to Europe, 
extended to Arthur an uncertain invitation to accept of such hos- 
pitality as she could offer, which invitation Arthur declined on 
the plea that, as he was going to leave on the early morning 
train, he would only inconvenience them. Promising his sister 
Kate to rejoin her speedily, he departed in search of a room, 
which he finally succeeded in obtaining at the Sea View House. 
Here, while in the midst of his toilet, he was joined by Langdon. 

“ Go ahead, don’t mind me,” said that gentleman, lighting a 
cigarette, as Arthur, with a couple of stiff brushes, performed 
vigorously on his short, thick, brown hair. “ I just dropped in to 
tell you that they are going to have a hop at the Casino to-night. 
It is some sort of a club that I believe I am a member of. Do 
you think the ladies would care to go ? Or will they be too 
tired ? ” 

“ I should think they would be glad of a little exercise,” said 
Arthur. “It is pretty close quarters aboard that yacht. I am 
going over to my aunt’s place after lunch, and I will be glad to 
have you pilot me, if you care to, then you can ask them your- 
self.” 

“ All right,” said Langdon, “ I will do that. Although, ” he 
added, after a moment’s reflection, “ I should not wonder if Yates 
would be beforehand with us. He is a member of the club, and 
won’t wait for ceremony. What a queer old Yates it is,” contin- 
ued Langdon, meditatively. “ He bores me half to death, and 
yet I can’t help sort of liking him.” 

“ I did not know that you knew him,” said Arthur, pausing in 
his toilet to light his pipe. “ Where did you meet him ” 

“ Here,” said Langdon. “ He is a friend of Merrin’s, the hus- 
band of our lady friend of that name. And, curiously enough, 
the first time I ever saw Yates he had got himself in a row about 

70 


A BUND BARGAIN. 7 1 

that same lady. You know she has been here all summer, and 
has been carrying on several desperate flirtations.” 

Langdon paused and sent a ribbon of smoke curling from his 
lips with great nicety. He wanted to give Arthur an opportunity 
to ask a few questions. His intention was quite evident, and 
Arthur understood it perfectly, but he declined to avail himself of 
it, and betrayed no sign of interest whatever. 

“ It is strange,” continued Langdon, presently, “ how our 
women take such a fancy to foreigners or to any fellow who can 
rig himself up to look like one. One of Mrs. Merrin’s favorites 
was a cad who was doing the English racket. And such an ass ! 
He wore a bob-tail coat, and talked with a drawl, and jerked his 
arms and legs about, and all that sort of thing. The style of 
idiot that any American worth his salt, wants to kick. I don’t 
exactly know how Yates got in a row with him. We had all been 
to a big dinner, and were sitting around on the porch at the 
Club House, and every one was feeling tolerably fresh and talking 
a good deal. And pretty soon I heard old Yates' voice threaten- 
ing to lick somebody. Of course we all crowded around, and 
then I found that the other fellow was the little imitation English- 
man. I was for clearing the gangway and letting Yates thrash 
him, on principle. The old man was pretty full — it only takes one 
glass to upset him. Did you ever see him when he gets a sheet 
or two in the wind ? No ? Well, he is not pretty at any time, 
but that night he looked ugly enough to scare the devil. What 
with the champagne and the row, his face was a sort of sallow- 
white, and he was horribly cross-eyed in addition. He always 
gets cross-eyed when he has been drinking. But he meant busi- 
ness. He had taken his coat off, and was struggling with a 
couple of men who were holding him, and was bellowing all the 
time like an old bull. The little fellow was not on the fight, and 
was trying to explain matters, until finally his friends carried him 
off. As near as I could learn, he had been bragging about the 
women who were gone on him, and Mrs. Merrin’s name got 
lugged in, and Yates resented it on Merrin’s account. I’ll say 
that much for Yates, queer as he is, he has got very tidy notions 
about standing up for a friend. By the way,” continued Langdon, 
“ you must let me introduce you to Merrin— you will like him. 
They are living here at the hotel.” 

“ Thanks,” said Arthur, “ it is hardly worth while, as I am going 
to-morrow.” 


72 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ You don’t think you could wait over for a day ? ” said Lang- 
don. 

But Arthur shook his head. “ Where would be the use ? ” he 
said. 

“Well,” said Langdon, arising and tossing the end of his cig- 
arette out of the window, “ I almost wish I was going to bunk in 
the steerage with you. You say you will go over to your aunt’s 
after lunch ? I’ll meet you at one then ; will that do ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Arthur, “ that will suit me.” 

“ All right,” said Langdon, nodding his head and taking his 
departure. 

When the door closed, Arthur stood for a moment meditating, 
and then, with the air of one whose mind is made up, he rang the 
the bell. When the servant appeared, he said, “ Is Mrs. Merrin 
staying at the hotel ? ” 

“ Yes, sir,” replied the man. 

“ Take her my card, will you, and bring me word here if she 
is in.” 

When the man left on his errand, Arthur stood for a moment 
again irresolute, and then, saying to himself, “ I might as well call 
now, and be done with it,” he proceeded with his toilet. 

“ Mrs. Merrin will see you, sir,” said the servant on his return. 

Arthur, having finished his toilet, bade the man show him to the 
apartment, and, knocking at the door, he entered. He found him- 
self in a small sitting-room, essentially a woman’s room. A mat- 
ting on the floor, cool and yet rich in color, with fur rugs scat- 
tered here and there. Quaint chairs and tables, no two of the 
same design, and yet all designed for ease. Odds and ends of 
pretty things in brass and glass, ivory and ebony, occupied every 
available space, not in “ well arranged disorder,” but as though 
the owner had admired them, tired of them and thrown them aside 
or put them to commonplace uses. The walls were covered with 
pictures, a hat was hanging on the frame of one, while on another, 
a brilliant painting of an Almeh, a colored shawl was thrown with 
a curious, realistic effect, as though it belonged to the dancing 
girl. There was an air of carelessness about the room which, had 
it not been for the costliness and beauty of its heterogeneous con- 
tents, would have been properly termed untidy. As it was, this 
abandonment blended with and increased the warmth of color and 
luxury which characterized it and made it what it was — a frame 
foi* its occupant. Mrs. Merrin was seated in a low chair by the 


A BLIND bargain. 


73 


open window. She wore a morning dress of a tawny yellow, an 
indescribable shade, which, seen in a wardrobe, would have been 
denounced by nine out of ten women as hideous. On Mrs. Merrin, 
with her purple-black hair and eyes, and dark, rich complexion, this 
yellow robe, with its quantities of lace, was simply a part of her 
as the plumage is a part of the bird. She was engaged apparently 
upon some fancy work as Arthur entered, but dropped it to quiet 
a tiny toy terrier that barked at the intruder from the vantage of 
her lap — an uncanny little piece of overbred, nervous life, with dim 
eyes and shaking limbs, over which it had no control as it stood 
shivering and yapping. Having quieted her pet, Mrs. Merrin, 
without rising from her chair, greeted Arthur with a smile, and 
held out the hand nearest to him. Arthur came forward and took 
the extended hand, with a bow and a repetition of his common- 
place salutation. But when he would have relinquished the clasp 
she detained him, and pursing up her lips and raising her eyebrows, 
like a pouting child she said in an injured voice, “ Why, how for- 
mal we are ! But then,” she added, changing her tone, “ I am 
glad to see you just the same. I knew you were here. Did you 
get my message ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Arthur, “ Mr. Langdon delivered it.” 

‘‘ It was very good of you to come,” she said, looking up into 
his eyes. 

“ Not at all,” he answered. “ You know that I am at your 
service, always.” « 

Mrs. Merrin dropped his hand and exclaimed, petulantly : “ Oh, 
yes, I know. But if you look upon it as a djuty, perhaps you had 
better have stayed away ! ” And then, taking up the dog, she 
continued, “ If he is going to be disagreeable, he had much better 
have stayed away, hadn’t he, Frou-Frou ? But, perhaps,” she 
added, looking up, “ I need not flatter myself. You came here 
on the ‘ Petrel,’ Mr. Yates’ yacht, and of course la belle cousine 
was one of the party ? ” 

“ Why, of course,” said Arthur, removing a bouquet from an 
ottoman and seating himself. 

“ Don’t you know ? ” she retorted. “ We call Mr. Yates her 
shadow. He is desperately in love with her.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” said Arthur. 

“ Oh, well, you can call it nonsense, if you like,” said Mrs. 
Merrin. “ All the same her aunt is working mighty hard to get 
him to propose. He is awfully rich, you know.” 


74 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ No,” said Arthur, “ I don’t know, and, what is more, I don’t 
care.” 

“ Jealous ? ” said Mrs. Merrin. 

“ Jealous ! ” retorted Arthur, “ why should I be jealous ? ” 

“ Heaven only knows,” said Mrs. Merrin, maliciously, misunder- 
standing him, “ only you don’t look particularly pleased. How- 
ever, I quite agree with you, I can’t see anything in her to make 
any man jealous. So don’t let us talk about her any more. You 
are looking splendidly. How tanned you are. I like it ; it is 
becoming to you blond men. Didn’t you find it very stupid 
down at that little village all summer I should have thought 
you would have spent the summer here, or at Saratoga, or where 
you would have seen some one, me, for instance.” 

“ I can’t afford to spend my summers here or at Saratoga, even 
to see you,” he replied, lightly, teasing the dog, which had 
jumped from its mistress’ lap. 

“ I don’t know that you missed a great deal,” said Mrs. Merrin, 
“ it has been very stupid here.” 

“Yes.^” said Arthur, looking up, “you have not found it so 
from all accounts ? ” 

“ Why, what do you mean ? ” said Mrs. Merrin, quickly. 

“ Nothing,” said Arthur carelessly. 

“Yes, you do,” said Mrs. Merrin, “and I want to know why 
you said that. You have heard something.” 

“ I have not heard anything,” replied Arthur, “ that is, nothing 
more than that you have broken the hearts of several men this 
summer. That was to be expected.” 

“ And what else ? ” she said looking at him suspiciously. And 
then, after thinking a moment, she continued, angrily, “ I suppose 
Mr. Yates has been edifying you with Newport gossip. That man 
is a fool!” 

“ I shan’t dispute that,” said Arthur ; “ at the same time, Mr. 
Yates has not mentioned your name to me. After all, I only 
heard that you had been flirting with some Englishmen.” 

“ I thought so,” exclaimed Mrs. Merrin. “ And did you believe 
it?” 

“ Naturally,” replied Arthur, with a slight shrug of his shoul- 
ders. 

A shade passed over Mrs. Merrin’s face, and, compressing her 
lips, she was silent for a moment. Then, looking up at him with 
aside glance, she said, sullenly, “You need not have said that, 


A BUND BARGAIN. 

;ind especially in that tone of voice. It was very unnecessary. 
You, of all men ! " 

Arthur looked up with surprise, and then, with an expression of 
annoyance, he said, quickly, “ I beg your pardon, you misunder- 
stand me. I see no harm in the gossip. Flirtations, so called, 
are indulged in by most persons at a watering-place, aren’t 
they ? It always seems to be my luck to say something to offend 
you.” 

“ Then why do you do it } ” she retorted. 

“Because I am stupid, I suppose,” he answered, and with a 
tired expression he arose and wandered around the room aimlessly, 
looking at the bric-4-brac. 

There was a few minutes’ silence, during which Mrs. Merrin 
followed him with her eyes. Then, suddenly resuming her usual 
manner, she said, “ You are not stupid at all, and I won’t be cross 
with you. Come here and sit down. I don’t like you to walk 
about that way, it makes me nervous.” And as he obeyed, she 
took his hat from him, and continued, “ Now, tell me, because I 
can only give you a few minutes ; you are going to the hop at the 
Casino to-night, of course ? ” 

“ I suppose so,” said Arthur. 

“ Oh, but you must,” she said gayly, “ and I will save you as 
many dances as you want, although you really don’t deserve it. 
But tell me, first, how long will you be here } ” 

“ I am going to-morrow,” he replied. 

“To-morrow!” she exclaimed, “why, what for I thought 
you were going to stay here a week, at least.” 

“ I have received orders to join my ship, and I have to go,” Said 
Arthur. 

“ But I don’t like that at all,” she said, complainingly. “ You 
know very well that a day or two would not matter if you wanted 
to stay.” 

“ I have got to go to-morrow,” said Arthur. 

“ Oh well, I don’t know that it makes very much difference after, 
all,” said Mrs. Merrin. “ I am going the day after to-morrow. 
But did I tell you ? I have a secret. If you promise to be very 
glad, I will confide it to you.” 

“ Very well,” said Arthur, not particularly impressed, “ I prom- 
ise.” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Merrin, with an air of great mystery, “ I am 
going to Europe. Mr. Merrin has promised to take me next 


76 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Spring, and then you can come and see me. Won’t that be 
fine ? ” 

And as Arthur assented with but a moderate amount of enthu- 
siasm, she added, reproachfully, “ I don’t believe you are one half 
as glad as I am. Just think what a gay time we can have in 
Paris. I have never been in Paris, and I am just dying to go. 
You will come and see me there, won’t you ? ” 

“ Of course,” he replied. 

“ Remember now,” she said, “ that is a promise.” 

“ That is, of course, if I can,” he interposed, quickly. 

“ But if you can, then you will. You don’t look at all as if you 
were glad,” she again said, remonstratively. 

“ Naturally, I am delighted,” said Arthur. 

“ Are you, really ? ” she asked. “ I can’t tell half the time when 
you are in earnest. You have grown so indifferent. You are not 
a bit like you used to be.” 

“ I am growing old,” replied Arthur, laughing. 

“ How absurd ! ” said Mrs. Merrin. “ You are no older than I 
am.” 

In truth he was not as old. But Mrs. Merrin was one of those 
women who, instead of letting the years dominate her, dominated 
the years. With her, as with those engaged in more serious pur- 
suits, knowledge was power, and with the knowledge gained from 
the years she turned upon and conquered them. 

The period for luncheon had arrived before Mrs. Merrin, giving 
Arthur his hat, told him that he had already stayed too long and 
must certainly go, granting him permission, however, to call upon 
her again later in the day, if he liked. And Arthur went, with a 
sensation of relief at getting out into the fresh air, aw^ay from the 
faint suggestion of perfume. He wanted to be alone. He wanted 
to think, not of himself, but of this outrageous story he had heard 
of Gertrude and Yates. And with his hat drawn over his eyes 
and his hands thrust down into his coat pockets, he strode along 
the street, entirely forgetting his engagement with Langdon. 

The idea, the idea of that man, that ill-bred, dull, awkward, 
hard-drinking fellow, presuming to have such a thought. It really 
seemed to Arthur so preposterous that at one time he was almost 
convinced that it was nothing more than Newport gossip, or a 
little bit of scandal of Mrs. Merrin’s own manufacture. But 
instantly there came the recollection of a dozen trifling incidents 
which he had noticed at Westasket, and on the yacht, of no sig- 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


77 


nificance at the time, but full of meaning now in the light of this 
report. Had not even Langdon said, scarcely an hour ago, that 
Yates would be before them with an invitation for Gertrude to 
attend the ball that night And yet it was incredible that such a 
man as that dared to think of marrying the pure, beautiful Ger- 
trude ! By heaven, the mere thought was sacrilege ! Something 
ought to be done. Something should be done to put an end to it. 
Whereupon, for the first time, he was confronted by the question, 
what business was it of his ? Hitherto he had only remembered 
that, as a rough boy, romantic and frequently misunderstood, as 
most boys are, the pretty, sympathetic, high-spirited Gertrude, 
with her mysterious coming, had been to him a creature half 
divine, to whom he had paid unquestioning reverence and alle- 
giance. And when he had met her again, a woman, innocence 
and beauty seemed to radiate from her and create within him a 
tender solicitude, a desire to guard and care for her, while her 
presence filled him with a sense of humility and unworthiness. 
This was all, and this, as the world goes, was not enough to war- 
rant him in calling Yates out and shooting him. No, of course 
not. Nevertheless he would watch the fellow closely and if he 
saw anything in his actions to corroborate this infamous rumor, 
why, he would — What he would do was lost in the misty emo- 
tions which these thoughts had aroused within his breast. 

That night at the dance, Mrs. Merrin had more reason than 
ever to complain of Arthur’s abstraction. But when she several 
times followed his eyes and saw them rest upon Gertrude, with 
Yates always near, she smiled and said, “ You see?” or “ What 
did I tell you ? ” and all the time she kept him more or less at her 
side with an adroitness which he, with a reckless perversity, did 
not try to resist. He was at odds with the world and himself, and 
took a vicious pleasure in outraging his own feelings and defying 
public opinion. He did not realize, at the time, that his avoidance 
of Gertrude, in view of the fact that his sister was her guest, and 
that he himself owed his presence there partly to her kindness, 
was a flagrant breach of courtesy, if not an affront. 

When the dancing, in which he had taken no part, was ended, 
Arthur walked silently home with Kate and Gertrude and bade 
them good-by at the door. Inconsistently enough he was angry 
with Gertrude for having received those attentions from Yates, 
which he had so noticeably failed to pay her. At the same time, 
he vaguely expected something more than a commonplace good- 


78 ' 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


by as she gave him her hand, something, some assurance, a word, 
a look, he scarcely knew what he did expect. The magnitude of 
this parting, considering their former friendship, made him forget 
his behavior during the evening, and seemed to justify the expecta- 
tion of something more than a simple “ good-by.” And yet that 
was all he received. 

“ It will be a long time before we meet again,” said Arthur. 
“ Three or four years, perhaps.” 

“ Yes,” assented Gertrude, “it is a long time.” 

There followed a silence, during which she quietly withdrew 
her hand. 

“ I hope you will be happy,” said Arthur, constrainedly. 

‘‘You are very kind,” responded Gertrude, much as though he 
had offered to help her with a shawl or fan, “ and I hope you 
will have a pleasant voyage, and so good-by. Katie,” she 
added, “ I will wait for you inside. I want to see if auntie, is 
awake.” 

“ I will not keep you, Kate,” said Arthur. “ It is not good-by 
with us, just yet.” 

Kate kissed him and wished him good-night very quietly, and 
stood watching him until he disappeared in the darkness. Then, 
going directly to her room, she sat down before the dressing 
table, and, with her chin on her hands and her dark eyes full of 
tears, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Gertrude, coming 
in presently, seated herself in a low rocking-chair, and, regarding 
Kate for awhile, said finally, “ Don’t be unhappy, Katie, you will 
see him again in a day or two.” 

“ It is not that,” said Kate, straightening herself up indignantly, 
and angrily winking the tears from her lashes, “ but I do think 
the way that some people behave is abominable.” 

“ Why, what is the matter } ” asked Gertrude, opening her big, 
gray eyes with great surprise. 

“ The matter is the way that that woman flirted with Arthur 
to-night. It is not only disgusting, it is wicked ! I am ashamed 
of Arthur. He ought to have known better, and I am glad that 
he has gone away.” 

“ Did a woman flirt with Arthur ? ” inquired Gertrude gravely. 

“ Could you not see ? ” exclaimed Kate. “ Then you are the 
only one.” 

“ Don’t be cross, Katie,” said Gertrude. “ Who was the dread- 
ful person } ” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 79 

“ I don’t know who she is,” returned Kate, with fine scorn, 
“ except that she has a husband, and his name is Merrin.” 

“ Mrs. Merrin ? ” said Gertrude. “Did Arthur flirt with her? 
They say she is irresistible, and has broken more hearts than any 
one knows of. It must be quite exciting. I wonder if she would 
not give lessons.” 

“ Gertrude ! ” exclaimed Kate, facing around on that golden- 
haired maiden who, sitting with her hands clasped behind her 
head, was regarding her reflectively. 

“Well,” said Gertrude, “you need not look so shocked. I 
think it is a very clever idea. ‘ Mrs. Merrin. Lessons in Flirting. 
Hours, from two to four. Extra charge for Subjects Furnished. 
Attendance at Residence — ’ ” 

“ Oh, Gertrude, don’t talk like that,” remonstrated Kate. “ It 
is not like you.” 

“ Is it not ? ” said Gertrude. “ How do you know what I am 
like ? ” 

“ Well, great goodness,” said Kate, “ I should think I ought to. 
I have known you long enough.” 

“ Then I wish you would enlighten me,” said Gertrude. 

“How funny you are to-night,” said Kate, looking at her curi- 
ously. Then presently she said, as she resumed her former atti- 
tude before the mirror. “You don’t care very much for Arthur, 
do you, Gertrude ? ” 

“ Well, upon my word ! ” exclaimed Gertrude, while the blood 
suffused her face, “ it is you who are a funny girl ! Of course I 
care for Arthur. Is he not my cousin, after a fashion, and have 
we not been brought up together ? He has always been like a 
brother to me, and I care for him almost as much as though he 
really were my brother.” 

“ Oh, well,” said Kate, with a dissatisfied air, “ of course, only 
I did not mean— that is, you did not seem to care very much when 
you wished him good-by to-night.” 

“ Why,” said Gertrude, calmly, “what did you want me to do? 
Fall on his neck and weep ? ” 

“ I did not want you to do anything,” replied Kate, with dig- 
nity. 

Gertrude arose, and, standing behind Kate, put her pretty bare 
arms around her neck. “ Shall I tell you something? ” she whis- 
pered, and as Kate made no reply, she continued, “ You are a 
sleepy thing I ” 


8o 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ No, I am not,” said Kate. 

Whereupon Gertrude made a contradictory little inoue at her 
in the mirror. Then Kate, relenting, laid her cheek against one 
of the bare arms, and said : “ I did not mean to be cross. I was 
put out with the way that Arthur behaved.” 

“ Well, let us go to bed,” said Gertrude, leaning over and kiss- 
ing her. “ I am sorry I did not make auntie’s maid wait up, only 
she is so stupid when she does, she is of no use. Won’t you let 
me help you } ” 

But Kate declared that she did not need any assistance, and, 
finally bidding her good-night, Gertrude retired to her own room. 

About half an hour afterward, as Kate, in her wrapper, sat in 
the depths of an easy chair, musing over the events of the evening, 
her conscience reproached her with having been unamiable to 
Gertrude. And as she dwelt upon the matter, she felt a great 
desire to go and have a penitential and confidential little chat with 
her before going to sleep. Taking the precaution to put a chair by 
the door to keep it open for a safe retreat, she crept into the dark 
hallway with a fluttering heart and made her way to Gertrude’s 
room. The door was ajar and a light streamed through the crev- 
ice. Gertrude had evidently not gone to bed. But just as Kate 
was about to tap she thought she heard a sound from within, as of 
suppressed sobbing. On the impulse of the moment Kate was 
about to enter with little ceremony, but a second thought caused 
her to draw back, then, hesitating for a moment, she returned 
softly to her own room. She stood for a minute in the doorway, 
listening, and with her mind filled with vague conjectures. What 
possible cause was there for Gertrude to be crying.^ Surely noth- 
ing that she had said (this, with a little spasm of remorse). But 
no, she knew Gertrude too well to entertain that idea. Then 
what could it be? Perhaps, after all, she had been mistaken. 
And leaning from the doorway she called softly, in French, 
“ Good-night, little one ! ’’ The response came immediately, in 
Gertrude’s natural, bright tones, “ Good-night, Katie.” 

And Kate, shutting her door, concluded that she must have 
been mistaken. 


CHAPTER XI. 


Arthur and Dudley had joined their ship at Charlestown in 
good season, while, pursuant to Arthur’s letter of advice, the 
major, with his wife and Kate, had arrived ‘about a week before 
the departure of the “ Comet.” In that week, to be sure, Arthur 
had little opportunity to see his family, for, during the last few 
days that a ship is in port, prior to a long voyage, all hands are in 
a fever of work. First, there is the executive officer, apparently 
ubiquitous, now seen standing on the half-deck thoughtfully pull- 
ing his moustache ; anon he suddenly appears by the dim light of 
a lantern in the yeoman’s room ; then his voice is heard from the 
depths of the ship in converse with the captain of the hold, and 
before the voices seem to have ceased here he is on the spar deck 
summoning the boatswain and studying with knit brows the 
station bill. And then there is the navigator, who, when not 
seated at his table, himself an island in a sea of charts, is seen 
with mysterious instruments screwed to his eye, staring appar- 
ently at a fly on one of the knee timbers in his stateroom, or tak- 
ing the bearings of a distant church steeple or passing the word 
for the assistant navigator. Midshipman Smith, who invariably 
appears with dishevelled hair, a pencil in his mouth, and perspira- 
tion trickling down his face. And then there is the master staring 
aloft till he must needs have a crick in his neck, and shouting 
unintelligible orders to a speck of a man on the royal yard. And 
the boatswain, roaring forth warnings, orders and objurgations, 
addressed apparently to no one in particular, shouting forth bois- 
terous questions which are never answered, or himself answering 
“ Aye, aye, sir ! ” with seemingly no reason whatever, while ever 
and anon he interrupts himself to clap his whistle to his mouth 
and bring forth piercing notes, with an encouraging chorus from 
his mates of “That’s well! Belay!” From below ascend rum- 
blings, creakings and groanings, the hissing of steam and the 
monotonous clank, clank, of chain, varied at intervals by a deafen- 
ing rush of iron cable. And through all the bustle and turmoil, 

6 8i 


82 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


ever and again is heard the peculiar, weird song of the navvies in 
the barges alongside, the “ creak, creak,” of the tackle, as coal is 
taken in, interrupted occasionally by the sharp trill of the whistle 
and the hoarse voice of a boatswain’s mate, chanting, “ K-ivay, 
second cutters, A-way ! ” taking one’s thoughts back to the shore 
with the departing boat. 

Arthur’s duties, as has been said, were varied and multifarious, 
and his opportunities of seeing his family were but limited. 
However, as those duties consisted in part of taking boats to and 
from the ship to the shore, he did occasionally manage an inter- 
view, albeit a necessarily short and unsatisfactory one. So that, 
when finally their last day in port arrived, he appreciated Dudley’s 
congratulations, for it certainly was uncomfortable to have to be 
making excuses in answer to his mother’s gentle remonstrances 
each time that he contrived to see her, and it would be a relief to 
have this prolonged parting ended. The day preceding that 
appointed for the departure of the “ Comet,” invitations to visit the 
ship had been issued to the friends of the officers. Arthur, who 
had been sent in charge of a boat’s crew to execute commissions 
at the Navy Yard, was directed to bring back some of the guests 
at one o’clock, till which hour he was permitted to remain ashore. 
The morning had been devoted by his mother and Kate to the 
packing of a patent sole-leather trunk, conveyed into Arthur’s 
room at the hotel early in the day by the major. 

“ I happened to see it down town yesterday,” said his father, 
“ and it immediately struck me as being precisely what you 
wanted for a sea voyage.” 

And then, proceeding to explain to Arthur all the ingenious con- 
trivances of this trunk, the major finally looked at him with such 
affection as caused Arthur involuntarily to extend his hand. And 
while his father clasped it with a fond pressure, Kate smiled upon 
them through her tears, and Mrs. Arlingford, with inflamed eye- 
lids, sat upon the bed, with one of Arthur’s neckties in her hand, 
and praised the trunk and papa’s thoughtfulness in buying it. 
Then Kate had busied herself in surreptitiously stowing away in 
the secret recesses of the patent trunk such of her own dainty 
belongings as could by any possibility, according to her judgment, 
be of use to a sailor on a three years’ cruise, such as hankerchief- 
boxes, perfume sachets, and the like. His mother absenting her- 
self on similar predatory excursions to her own room, invariably 
returned only with red eyes, a brave smile on her lips, and the 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 83 

necktie in her hand. Finally the valise was packed, and Arthur, 
closing and locking it, sat down upon it, and, with an 
assumption of gayety, asked Kate if she was ready to go to the 
party. But Mrs. Arlingford reappearing after a short absence 
with a roll of white tape necessitated the opening of the trunk 
again. 

“ For,” said she, “ it will be of use to you on the cruise, won’t 
it, dear } ” 

And Arthur had assured her with many thanks for her thought- 
fulness that it certainly would be, that tape was a very handy 
thing to have at sea. 

And then the poor lady fairly broke down and sobbed upon her 
son’s shoulder, and was finally led away by the major, while 
Arthur and Kate silently departed. 

As most of the ladies in the boat that conveyed them to the 
ship had relatives or friends among the officers who were to leave 
on the morrow, it was rather a depressed party that swept up to 
the “ Comet’s ” starboard gangway. Once aboard, however, no one 
was permitted to indulge in melancholy reflection. Music, fur- 
nished by amateurs from among the crew, the continual arrival of 
guests, the sunshine and the novelty of their surroundings, soon 
chased away gloomy thoughts from the minds of sweethearts and 
wives. And if exterior surroundings could enliven sorrowful hearts, 
surely the sight of the “ Comet’s ” decks this summer morning 
ought to have had that power. The subdued yellow light of the 
sun sifted down through the canvas awnings, was diffused over 
the cleanest of white and the cleanest of black paint work, causing 
miniature suns to glisten in all directions from the highly polished 
brass work. The deck was holy-stoned down to the grains of the 
yellow spruce, showing the shining ebony seams of pitch like 
black lines ruled on parchment. While the curious nicety observ- 
able in everything, from the ties of the old quartermaster’s shoes 
to the squared yards and furled sails of the ship, and the cheerful 
spotlessness and brightness existing everywhere was as inspirit- 
ing as music. The daintiest kid glove might rest with impunity 
even on the great, grim, shining black guns — if the quarter-gunner 
would permit it. Added to all this, the glittering uniforms of the 
officers, the picturesque costumes of the crew, “ all in white,” 
and the touches of color furnished by the bright summer 
dresses of the ladies, who had bestowed themselves in every 
conceivable place, each one scorning such a commonplace thing 


84 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


as a chair, and the effect was a charming picture, a picture in 
pastels. 

It has always been a subject for much thought and study on the 
part of old gunners and boatswains why ladies prefer gun breech- 
ings, ports, signal chests, and the like, for seats, while comfortable 
chairs go a-begging. And the question remains unanswered to 
this day. It has, however, been practically demonstrated to these 
students of human nature that a port is just comfortably large 
enough for two, and that the gangway ladder, when well draped 
with flags, is, like its prototype, a broad flight of stairs, a favorite 
resort for young couples. On occasions like these, it is the espe- 
cial privilege and delight of the boatswain and his mates to startle 
these retired couples, when eight swift strokes of the bell sound 
noon, by using the whole force of their lungs on their silver whis- 
tles as they pipe to dinner, and cause dismayed owners of delicate 
nerves to clap their kid-gloved little hands over their ears. Then, 
too, as the hour for departure draws nigh, and there is a general 
rendezvous on the quarter-deck, that shrewd old observer, the 
quartermaster, invariably detects the absence of a brass button 
from a midshipman’s coat, and keeps his weather eye open till he 
discovers what maiden it is that has it slung to her chatelaine ; 
but, bless your heart, he never tells. 

Finally, when the last tardy couple has been unearthed and 
appears on deck, she, poor innocent, with a story of the marvels 
of the garboard strakes, the scuttle butt, or the fore topmast fid, 
the exploration of which has detained them, the embarkation 
begins, until finally the last boat ruthlessly carries off the remain- 
ing light and beauty from the decks. Eight bells are struck, the 
hands are “ turned to,” the awnings are furled, the running gear, 
which has looked like so many door mats “ flemished down,” is 
coiled clear for running, the gangways are despoiled of their dra- 
pery, and the ship, like the crew, is shifted into its working 
clothes. 

All of Kate’s animation deserted her as she walked back to the 
hotel with Arthur, and, although at first bravely responding to his 
attempts at cheerfulness, she finally relapsed into silence, and 
allowed the tears quietly to gather behind her veil. On their 
arrival at the hotel, Arthur, with the assistance of his father, 
gathed together his few remaining possessions, and packed them 
away in a small satchel, and then went to his mother’s room to 
bid her good-by. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


85 


The major during the day, had found many other odds and 
ends which might be useful or pleasant on board ship, and among 
these, securely packed away in the satchel, was a small meer- 
schaum pipe, as black as some twenty years of smoking could 
make a little pipe. This pipe had been the major’s companion on 
many a hard campaign, and it was very dear to him. It was a 
regular veteran of a pipe, having in its long years of service 
received many a wound, of which it still bore the scars, in the 
shape of curious silver bands and patches. The major sighed as 
he regretfully closed the old stained case, and when Arthur, far 
out at sea, opened it with a great wave of love for the dear old 
father surging through his heart, he found a scrap of paper in 
the case, saying, “ Be good to my old friend, and don’t be ashamed 
to go to him for advice.” 

Finally Arthur reappears from his mother’s room, and, kissing 
his sister good-bye, tells her to “ go in and comfort mamma.” 

“ Well,” says his father, cheerily, “ all ready? ” 

“ All ready, sir,” replies Arthur. 

And the two walk down the street in the twilight arm in arm, 
the major insisting on carrying the satchel, while he talks of the 
ship, her officers, and the prospective cruise. 

“ I have no doubt but that you will enjoy it all very much,” says 
the major, as they near the wharf. The Mediterranean is con- 
sidered the best station, I believe.” 

“ By all odds,” says Arthur. 

“ And the three years will pass only too quickly, I expect, when 
you once get into harness,” says the major. 

“ No time at all,” replies Arthur, “when you once get fairly into 
it.” 

Then, in spite of them, a short silence ensues as they arrive at 
the wharf. 

“ I will send you a line every chance I get,” said Arthur, stop- 
ping at the boat stairs. 

“ Do,” says his father. “ I need not tell you how anxious your 
mother will be about you, and we will all look forward to hearing 
from you.” 

“ Good-by, sir,” says Arthur. 

“ Good-by, my dear, dear boy ! ” 

And the two, with tightly clasped hands, take one long, 
affectionate look into each other’s eyes. And then, turning 
away, Arthur springs into the stern sheets of the cutter, and, 


86 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


with a sense of relief, gives the order, sharply, " Shove off. 
for’ard ! ” 

The major, standing motionless on the wharf, watching the 
boat speed out among the shadows of the great hulls, sees Arthur 
turn his head and wave his hand, and then the boat disappears 
over the water in the darkness of the night. 


CHAPTER XII. 


The season has begun in Washington City, and the capital 
presents a scene of animation and gayety, in notable contrast to its 
appearance in midsummer. The vast stretches of broad avenues, 
that lay hot and empty under the July sun, are now crowded with 
vehicles of all kinds, from the dainty pony phaeton to the preten- 
tious four-horse drag. Elegantly dressed women throng the 
fashionable stores on the sunny side of Pennsylvania Avenue, 
stylishly clad children, with their white-capped nurses, play in the 
circles and parks, and busy Government officials jostle each other 
on the steps and in the corridors of the buildings of State. At 
night, from the brilliantly-illuminated residences, voices and music 
and laughter float through the open windows, carriages rumble 
continuously over the smooth asphalt pavements, while the great, 
white Government edifices add the grandeur of still life to the 
rustle and roar of humanity and dignify existence in this most 
beautiful city. The tide of political, official and social life is at its 
flood. But with this our story concerns itself not at all. 

While the vernal Mrs. Smyth may call without further ado upon 
Mrs. Secretary of State on that lady’s reception day, and be re- 
ceived and entertained, and while Mrs. Secretary in due time will 
return the visit, that is, — her carriage, all properly appointed, except, 
perhaps in the matter of an occupant, will drive to Mrs. Smyth’s 
door and her card be left by a liveried footman, — while, I say, all 
this may happen in the case of this very exalted person, in the 
case of the unofficial “ old residents ” it is another thing. With 
them the massive front door, which guards the portals to the 
large, quaint, old-fashioned house, built, perhaps, of imported 
bricks a hundred years or so ago, excludes all but chosen friends. 
The grinning face on the brass knocker, which still ornaments the 
oak, though rendered useless by the modern innovation of an 
electric bell, contemplates the floating population with sardonic 
immobility. The aged, gray-haired negro, in blue swallow-tail 
coat and brass buttons, a relic of former davs, scans with grave 

87 


88 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


courtesy each bit of paste-board before he ushers the visitor into 
the drawing-room. Here there is no recently acquired bric-a- 
brac. On the contrary, there is a guilty consciousness about the 
modern grand piano as though it had feloniously made away with 
the spinet and buried it in the cellar, while an ebony cabinet or a 
spindle-legged table among the new-fashioned furniture carries 
the mind back by easy transition into the last century — into the 
last century, when the gentleman in the high-collared coat and 
ruffled shirt, whose picture is over the tall, carved mantel, or this 
one in blue with a stiff stock and a glimpse of fighting ships in 
the background, gentlemen whose names school-children of to-day 
repeat when reciting their lessons, used to play at whist or dance 
the minuet in this very room. 

To be sure a good many of these old mansions have been torn 
down to make way for modern improvements, or have been turned 
into boarding-houses in these later days, for while the passing 
years bestow a patent of respectability, in most instances, the 
entail is poverty. In fact, our friend Major Arlingford was no 
exception to this rule. But while he had not the means to main- 
tain the lavish hospitality for which the Arlingford mansion had 
been noted in those good old days when a diner-out was admir- 
ingly referred to as a “ two bottle man,” he was at least able to 
live in modest comfort and repay society for its attentions. And 
then, too, Madame Catherine had a knack of gathering together 
the most delightful people, young and old, and of playing the 
hostess in such a charming, unaffected way as rendered the mere 
fact of being her guest a pleasure in itself. 

The Arlingfords were of that enviable class of whom people 
never thought to inquire “ how great is their income ? ” but only 
“whom will they invite } ” And now that two such attractions as 
Kate and Gertrude were added to the list, we may be sure that 
these same invitations were more eagerly sought than ever. In 
short, the social sensation of this particular season was the advent 
of Miss Alden and Miss Arlingford. 

Now when a young woman has the temerity to cause a sensa- 
tion she must expect to be subjected to that system of critical 
espionage which is provoked by every one who raises his or her 
head above the level of the crowd, and when, as in this instance, 
these were such pretty girls as Kate and Gertrude, associated, 
forming apparently an alliance which threatened to regrate the 
matrimonial market by producing a corner in all the best young 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


89 

men of the army, navy, and marine corps, not to mention certain 
attaches of the various legations and eligible gentlemen generally, 
it may well be supposed that every mother of a marriageable 
daughter felt it to be not only interesting but her positive duty to 
concern herself about the most minute details of their daily life. 

As for Gertrude, around whom, for various reasons, most of the 
interest centred, scarcely a month had elapsed before certain 
Newport gossip about her engagement to a wealthy New York 
gentleman was revived in Washington. When this bit of news 
became stale, reports of her being engaged to other gentlemen 
were circulated as assiduously. In fact, as the season progressed 
these rumors grew to be as multitudinous as the sparrows im- 
ported by the Park Commissioners. Nor is it surprising that as* 
the months flew by and no authoritative announcement of an 
approaching wedding emanated from the region of Sixteenth 
Street, the good ladies who deemed it their duty to concern them- 
selves about the affairs of Miss Alden, whispered among them- 
selves that it was very sad that such a pretty young girl should be 
so frivolous. 

Now it must be confessed that Gertrude was not as circum- 
spect during this her first season as the circumstances rendered 
advisable. She was emerging from an impressionable age, and 
during the past year a material change in her ways, if not in her 
thoughts and disposition was observable. As Arthur had said, 
her men on horseback were turning out to be sand-hill cranes with 
a disheartening frequency, and this new life, from which the 
bloom was being rubbed off, was bearing its first disappoint- 
ment. 

At the same time youth is not easily daunted, nor will it for any 
number of disillusions cease its eager gaze into the future for that 
intangible something or somebody, that ideal which is hiding in 
the untried years. And so it was that certain men on being 
introduced to Miss Alden marvelled at the expression which would 
at times light up her face which seemed ordinarily so indifferent, 
so devoid of interest in passing events. It is a very fascinating 
experience for a man, that of seeing a pretty face grow bright, that 
of seeing the soul awake, as it were, under his words, or under 
his gaze. How should the conceited fellow know that a rose 
with an unusual fragrance would evoke this luminosity in Miss 
Alden’s eyes as readily as the author of a successful book^ 
or a horse with a perfect stride, as readily as the blue- 


90 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


coated hero of an Indian fight ? Those dark, gray orbs were 
all unconscious at the moment whether the object of their inter- 
ested regard belonged to the animal, vegetable or mineral king- 
dom. Only it was rather hard on the man. And people, 
especially elderly ladies with daughters of their own, will miscon- 
strue the motives of other people’s daughters. 

No one said that Kate flirted. Kate was too matter-of-fact and 
took life in too sensible and serious sort of way. Her earnest 
brows and dark, inquiring eyes gave little encouragement to any 
one who left the well-defined paths marked out by common 
sense. And therein lay Kate’s strength of character. He who 
follows the road, while he may find it monotonous and devoid of 
adventure, will certainly never get lost. 

Both Kate and Gertrude were serenely indifferent to the gossip 
that filled the air around them, but for very different reasons. 
The one went her way in placid consciousness that she was in the 
right path ; the other was careless of the criticism of those who 
held no place in her affection. If however, Kate was indifferent to 
what society said of her, she was not by any means indifferent to 
what it said of Gertrude. The traditional lioness never sprang to 
the defence of her cubs more quickly than Kate took up arms in 
the defense of those whom she loved. Many were the battles 
royal which she fought in the support of her friend on this very 
charge of coquetry. Perhaps after the first flush of partisan indig- 
nation had subsided she would be inclined to do battle with Ger- 
trude for giving cause for such reports, though that was of little 
use. 

“ What am I to do ? ” Gertrude would say. “ Am I always to 
be thinking of how I look and what I say lest some one should fall 
in love with me ? ” And then, blushing furiously despite herself, 
she added crossly, “ I must say I think it is very silly of you to 
pay any attention to such remarks. What if they do say I am a 
flirt ? It doesn’t make me one.” 

“ Well, but,” persisted Kate, with an uncomfortable recollection 
of the indifference, not to say lightness, with which Gertrude had 
listened to her denunciation of this very crime once before, “ I 
think you ought to be more — ” 

“ More what ? ” asked Gertrude. 

** You ought to be more circumspect,” replied Kate. 

“You do.?” retorted Gertrude. “You dear, old thing, you are 
circumspect enough for both of us.” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


91 


And then there was a twining of arms about Kate’s neck and 
various caresses, which generally brought Kate’s arguments and 
lectures to a premature close. 

Now, while Kate was frank and honest almost to aggressiveness, 
she was not entirely ingenuous in her defence of Gertrude against 
the charge of flirting, or in her appeal to her friend to be more cir- 
cumspect. That is to say, she was influenced by other motives 
besides that of friendship. That other motive sprang from a hope 
that she had cherished until it had become one of the objects of 
her life, a hope that Gertrude would marry Arthur. Who so well 
adapted to be Gertrude’s husband, as that young hero, her brother 
Arthur, intelligent, brave and handsome ! Or who so well fitted to 
be Arthur’s wife as Gertrude, beautiful, bright and affectionate ! 
Why should they not marry, these two of whom she was so 
fond ! 

For the first six months after their first auspicious meeting at 
Carleton, fate seemed inclined to fulfil Kate’s dream. But since 
that night at Newport, when Arthur had behaved so badly, fate 
had not been so kind. In her distress Kate had taxed Gertrude 
with not caring for her brother any more. And now this reproach 
seemed more than ever well founded, for Gertrude, the admired of 
Washington society, the centre of attraction for a hundred men, 
had apparently ceased to remember that there was such a person 
as Midshipman Arthur on the face of the globe. No wonder that 
Kate chafed and fretted when it was intimated that Gertrude 
cared for any other man’s attention. No wonder she did battle 
with society in general. Was she not the champion of this 
absent knight, Arthur, the keeper of this pearl among women ? 

“ I declare it is too bad ! ” she exclaimed, after a confidential 
talk with her mother on this subject, for, as has been said, Mrs. 
Arlingford was in this conspiracy. In fact, when her daughter 
first broached the subject she had confessed that this conjugal 
project had occupied her mind before Kate was out of short 
dresses. “ I declare it is too bad!” said Kate. “If Arthur had 
only not gone into the navy, or if he could always be in Washing- 
ton, like that Lieutenant Jones ! ” 

“ I wonder if Gertrude cares anything for him,” said Mrs. Arling- 
ford, her stereotyped remark. 

Kate shook her head hopelessly, and said, “ I don’t know. Of 
course she likes Arthur. She always did like him, but then—” 

And that “ but then ” blocked further speculation. 


92 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“People are so queer,” continued Kate, impatiently. “I can't 
imagine why Gertrude does not send that Mr. Yates off about his 
business. She surely can have no intention of marrying him ! ” 

“ Of course not ! ” exclaimed her mother, as though such an idea 
was the height of absurdity. 

And yet, notwithstanding these sturdy assertions, this was the 
very' possibility these scheming women feared. 

“ What do you suppose it is that makes Aunt Mary seem to like 
him so much } ” said Kate. 

“ I have no idea,” said Mrs. Arlingford. “ You know that he is 
trustee of Gertrude’s fortune.” 

“ That is no reason why she should want Gertrude to marry 
him,” said Kate indignantly. 

“ We don’t know that she does,” replied Mrs. Arlingford. 

“ It looks very much like it,” said Kate. “ Perhaps it is because 
he is rich,” she continued. “I think it is a sin for Aunt Mary to 
encourage the attentions of a man like that, just because he is 
rich.” 

“ Kate, my dear ! ” exclaimed her mother, reprovingly, “ you 
must not talk that way of your Aunt Mary. It is not proper.” 

“ I can’t help it,” said Kate, impatiently, “ I do. Though, after 
all,” she continued, after the silence which naturally followed this 
rebuke, “ after all, if money has anything to do with it, I don’t see 
why Aunt Mary should have opposed her marrying that English- 
man, Mr. Courtney. He has as much money as Mr. Yates, they 
say, and is young and very nice, and comes from a good fam- 
ily.” 

“ Maybe Gertrude did not care for him,” suggested Mrs. Arling- 
ford. 

“ I don’t know,” said Kate, “ but I thought she did. Though 
Gertrude is so funny that way ; she is not like other girls. She 
never mentions the name of any gentleman who pays her atten- 
tion, though I am sure she has had a half a dozen offers this 
winter.” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Arlingford, with a gleam of hope, “perhaps 
she won’t marry any one till Arthur comes back.” 

“ Then why does she keep Mr. Yates dangling around her 
all the time ? ” said Kate, promptly extinguishing the gleam. 

And Catherine, the mother of Arthur, sighed and helplessly 
shook her head. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


The early winter months passed by, bringing with them no 
change in the existing state of affairs. Mr. Yates still continued 
to “ dangle around ” Gertrude, as Kate had expressed it, but 
whether on sufferance or as an accepted lover in a state of sub- 
jection, society could not determine. The Christmas holidays 
were approaching, and the gayety of the National Capital was at 
its climax. Receptions, opera, balls, theatre parties, germans and 
other festivities crowded each other so that the long winter nights 
were not long enough to accommodate them, and yet, fast as they 
w'hirled by, there was never a one of these entertainments but was 
marked with Mr. Yates’ now familiar figure, following in the train 
of Gertrude. In view of the fact that Mr. Yates had never danced 
a step in his life, that he had no talent for what is known as small 
talk, that he lacked that peculiar ability to lean languidly against a 
wall and look bored, that he was painfully conscious of his hands 
and feet, and felt himself to be and in fact was out of place, and 
consequently always in somebody else’s way, treading on a satin 
train or blocking a passage ; in view of all this, it will be conceded 
that it was a very strong motive indeed that drew him into the vor- 
tex of society during the Washington season. Painfully sensitive 
as he was, the power that forced him again and again into posi- 
tions where that sensitiveness was unmercifully galled, must have 
been irresistible, as in truth it was. Night after night on his 
return to his rooms from these merry gatherings, he would 
pace the floor, biting his nails to the quick as he recalled the 
shrugs of the shoulder, the impatient requests to move aside, the 
slighting smiles, remarks partially overheard, all misconstrued, 
darkened and distorted by his imagination. Brooding over these, 
he would mutter to himself that, “ By God, he was as much of a 
gentleman as any of them ! ” And that he, “ would not stay in 
the cursed town another day ! ” And, starting impulsively to 
pack his trunk, as he had done a dozen times a week, he would 
feel the chain of love that bound him to the stake tighten until, 

93 


94 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


unable to burst his bonds, with a groan he would throw himself 
into a chair and bury his face in his hands. 

Then with this thought of Gertrude would come a train of 
devils to torture him. Every word, every smile, every glance 
bestowed by her upon other men, for not orre escaped his jealous 
eyes, was recalled with relentless fidelity ; the men she had con- 
versed with, the men whose arms she had taken during the 
promenade, the men whose arms had supported her in the waltz, 
while she, her dress touching him as it floated by, was unconscious 
of his presence. All these he recollected with torturing minute- 
ness, and, as the scenes pictured themselves vividly before his 
aching eyes, too often, far too often ! he would fill a glass with ab- 
sinthe and drink it off to deaden the pain of this dark conflict in his 
soul until it became no unusual thing for the gray light of morning 
to find him with flabby face, on w’hich the beaded moisture trickled 
down unheeded, blood-shot eyes and trembling hands clenched 
in his tangled hair, still muttering, but with no sense or reason 
left. 

And yet the next night found Mr. Yates in early attendance 
upon its round of amusements. Drifting aimlessly in the crowd, 
with the chronic smile upon his lips, belied by his anxious gaze, he 
endeavored in a dozen little constrained ways to appear indifferent 
and at ease. He was grateful to any one who helped him in this, 
to any one who talked to him or stood near him and thus gave 
him a reason for being where he was, although, unfortunately, any 
kind-hearted person who showed him this attention was apt to 
regret it afterwards, for once encouraged, Mr. Yates was difficult 
to get rid of. His conversation, as has been said before, was not 
interesting, in fact he himself seemed to have had this fact driven 
home, for he had got in the habit lately of giving a little depreca- 
tory laugh after each remark, as though to forestall criticism. 

All this time he made no mention of his love to any one except 
his self-constituted confidante, the widowed Mrs. Arlingford. 
Having blown his smouldering fancy into a blaze, she had now to 
battle with the flames. In season and out of season, regardless of 
time or place, he relieved his overburdened brain with a recital of 
his woes, his fears, his jealous fancies and despair, while she 
listened and comforted and counselled him and silently bore with 
him. 

The time had now come when she was afraid to do otherwise, 
afraid for him, for Gertrude, for herself, he had grown so gloomy 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 95 

and morose. And when in despair she urged him to declare his 
love to Gertrude and settle the matter, he would invariably answer 
evasively, saying that he intended to some day, or would abruptly 
turn the subject. He dared not put his fate to the test. He 
dared not take the initiative ; he only doggedly waited for Mrs. 
Arlingford to make good her promise and give him Gertrude for a 
wife. 

That Gertrude herself during the past season must have become 
well aware of Mr. Yates’ feeling toward her there was now no 
reason to doubt. She could not well help but know that he loved 
her, if in no other way than by his constantly seeking her pres- 
ence. But it was not until the season was well advanced that 
she actually realized the situation. He had been so quiet, so 
humble in his attentions, if persistent, that the idea of his loving 
her had not come in the shape of a revelation, but had rather 
diffused itself through her daily life. 

It was not until the Christmas holidays that a slight incident 
swept aside this curtain of mist and gave her a glimpse of the 
depth of the passion along the edge of which she 'was so in- 
differently treading, and caused her to view his devotion with a 
feeling very different from her former equanimity. 

It was on a brilliant winter’s morning about a week before 
Christmas that, on opening the street door, equipped for a walk, 
Gertrude found Mr. Yates standing on the steps, having evidently 
just rung the bell. He carried in his hand a huge bouquet of rare 
hot-house flowers, which he, somewhat disconcerted at Gertrude’s 
sudden and unexpected appearance, hastily presented to her, at the 
same time detailing the circumstances accounting for his presence 
there at that early hour, in palliation of her possible disapproval. 

“ Won’t you come in.^ ” said Gertrude, pleasantly. 

“ Oh, no, thank you,” replied Yates. “ I had no intention of 
coming in,” at the same time making no movement to depart. “ I 
just wanted to leave the flowers.” 

“They are very sweet,” said Gertrude, burying her face in them. 

“They are nothing much,” disclaimed Yates. “If I had been 
in New York I could have got you some camellias.” 

“ But I don’t care for camellias,” said Gertrude. I much pre- 
fer these violets. I was just going for a walk. Would you like to 
go?” 

Would he like to go ! Had she bidden him enter Paradise, he 
could not have looked more delighted. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


96 

When she re-entered the house to leave the flowers he ex- 
panded his broad chest and threw back his head and held himself 
very erect, and when presently she returned and they walked 
down the street together, he conducted himself with boyish exu- 
berance. 

There had been a light fall of snow during the night and the 
morning sun glistened upon the white pavement, while the crisp, 
fresh air brought the color to Gertrude’s cheeks, and exhilarated 
her spirits almost as much as she had raised those of her com- 
panion. When she casually remarked that the country must look 
beautiful after the snow, he eagerly suggested that they drive out 
to the Soldiers’ Home. But no, Gertrude preferred to walk, and 
finally she decided to go to the Capitol and see the view from the 
dome. 

It is a long walk from Lafayette Square to the Capitol, and 
when Gertrude at last ascended the steps leading to the rotunda 
she was tired enough to abandon the projected ascent to the 
dome ; but in that slight frame of her’s there dwelt a spirit of quiet 
determination, of indomitable will, of whose existence few people 
were aware. Kate was conscious of it, and called it obstinacy. 
Obstinacy or firmness, it is pretty much the same thing, changing 
its name only with circumstances. And so Gertrude, notwith- 
standing that she was very tired, was obstinate, and persisted in 
going up into the dome. As a consequence, when they reached 
the landing occupied by the stall for the sale of photographs and 
souvenirs of the Capitol, Gertrude turned pale, and, sitting down, 
seemed for a moment as though she was about to faint. 

Yates instantly became greatly excited, and was for hurrying off 
the old man in charge of the booth for assistance, water, wine, a 
doctor, heaven knows what he would not have collected on that 
airy perch, had not Gertrude recovered sufficiently to interfere. 

“ Absurd ! ” she said, angry at her own weakness, while the 
color returned to her face. “ There is nothing the matter with 
me. I would like a glass of water if you have it, that is all.” 

And this being furnished, she thanked the man and turned to 
continue the ascent. 

“But you are not going any farther ? ” protested Yates. 

“ Certainly,” replied Gertrude, pausing with her foot on the first 
step and looking back at him. “ I am going to see the view from 
the dome.” 

“ Don’t you think you had better rest awhile, Miss.^ ” ventured 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


97 


the old vender of photographs. “ I would not try to go any fur- 
ther.” 

” No, no,” Yates repeated eagerly, “ I wouldn’t ! ” 

“ Very well, said Gertrude, wilfully ; “ if you would not you can 
wait here. I will be back in a few minutes.” 

Of course Yates was at her side when she reached the balcony. 
Here the keen, cold air entirely restored her, and, gazing delight- 
edly down at the dazzling panorama of the glittering snow-covered 
country spread out beneath her feet, she drew a long breath, and, 
turning to her companion, exclaimed — 

“ Was not this worth coming to see ? ” 

But as she caught sight of his face she added hurriedly, Why, 
what is the matter with you ? What makes you so pale ? ” 

“Am I pale? ” said Yates, with embarrassment. “ It is noth- 
ing.” 

“ But there is something the matter with you,” insisted Ger- 
trude. “ You are not well. I ought not to have made you come 
up.” 

“ I am perfectly well,” said Yates, slapping the balustrade un- 
easily with his hand and looking down. 

Then, as she continued to look at him curiously, he added, with 
embarrassment, “ I was afraid that something had happened to 
you ; that you were sick, that it was something serious.” 

“ I don’t quite understand,” said Gertrude, perplexedly. 

Then Yates looking off into the distance said with the air of one 
who was at bay and forced to make the avowal. “ I love you so 
that if anything had happened to you I — 1 would have thrown 
myself down from here ! ” 

There was nothing dramatic in his manner of making this state- 
ment, on the contrary, his bearing was awkward and his appear- 
ance not at all heroic. He was very pale, but it was a livid pallor 
and not becoming, and there was a strange, furtive look in his 
deep set, averted eyes. But there was no doubting that he meant 
just what he said. At that moment he was quite as capable of 
stepping off the balustrade into eternity, for the sake of his love, 
as he was of descending by the stairs to the busy life below. 

It was by this lightning flash of emotion that Gertrude saw for 
the first time the dark prospect of this man’s passion. At first she 
was frightened and instinctively glanced around for companion- 
ship. But they were alone on this dizzy eminence and in her 
extremity she forced herself to appear composed. She could not 
7 


98 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


— she dared not answer him. But Yates made no demonstration 
further than to turn his gloomy eyes upon her in a way by no 
ways reassuring. After a few moments of strained silence, 
Gertrude turned away and diligently contemplated the scene 
beneath, making some trivial remark about its beauty, and even 
pointing out the Long Bridge and Arlington Heights. It was a 
woman’s refuge from a threatening danger, a pathetic pretence 
that it was not there. Then as Mr. Yates continued silent, mak^ 
ing no reply whatever to her words, Gertrude, with a little shiver 
declared it was growing cold and proposed that they descend. 
He offered no objection and followed her moodily. 

The moment she set her little foot on the crowded pavement of 
Pennsylvania Avenue, she regained her self-control and continued 
talking on various unimportant topics, while Yates walked by her 
side in silence, harassed by fears of the result of this betrayal. 

On their return home Kate was seen sitting at the window in 
walking costume, evidently waiting for Gertrude ; and so Mr. 
Yates, after a moment’s hesitation, declined Gertrude’s studiedly 
careless invitation to enter, and took his departure in silence. 

“ What have you done with Mr. Yates ” said Kate when Ger- 
trude joined her. 

“ He has gone,” said Gertrude. 

“ Oh ! ” said Kate, mockingly, “ I am so sorry.” 

“ I am not,” replied Gertrude, sinking into a chair and weariedly 
pulling off her gloves. 

“ Where on earth have you been ? ” continued Kate, who was 
not in the best of humor. “ What is the matter ? You look pale.” 

“We went up to the Capitol to see the views,” said Gertrude. 

“ And you are worn out, of course,” said Kate. “ I did not sup- 
pose that Mr. Yates cared for views. Did he tell you what, a much 
finer view he had from his residence in New York ? ” 

“ What makes you so severe on Mr. Yates this morning ? ” said 
Gertrude, in a low voice. 

“ Oh, nothing,” replied Kate, lightly, “ only I wanted you to go 
shopping with me, and I thought that if I came around very early, 
I might manage to get here before Mr. Yates. But it seems that 
I was mistaken.” 

“ I am sorry,” said Gertrude. “ Can’t we go this afternoon.? ” 

“ Oh, it does not matter particularly,” protested Kate, tapping 
the floor with her foot, “ only I get so tired of Mr. Yates.” 

In conversation Gertrude sometimes had a pretty little way of 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


99 


reflecting for a moment and then suddenly looking up and deliv- 
ering her reply as though it had been maturely considered. In 
former discussions of Mr. Yates, for they had been frequent 
enough, she would probably have appeared lost in thought over 
Kate’s assertion, and then raising her head with a smile, would 
have answered, “ Poor Mr. Yates ! ” But now, after meditating 
longer than usual she said, “ I don’t know why you should dislike 
Mr. Yates so much, Kate.” 

“ I don’t dislike him,” said Kate, indifferently. “ I don’t care 
one way or another about him, except as I say, that I get tired of 
having him always around.” 

“ He is certainly a very honorable man and 1 believe he is a 
good man,” continued Gertrude, argumentatively, as though sum- 
ming up Mr. Yates’ qualities to herself. 

“ Yes ? ” said Kate, with an intonation rather nettling. 

“Yes,” said Gertrude, “and he is generous, too. It was only 
yesterday that he gave a thousand dollars to the ‘ Little Sisters of 
the Poor.’ ” 

“ So he, himself, informed me,” said Kate. 

“ Don’t be sarcastic, Katie,” said Gertrude. “ Mr. Yates does 
not talk of these things boastfully,” she continued more earnestly, 
as she proceeded on this hitherto untrodden path of defending Mr. 
Yates. “ He mentions them innocently enough when they are 
apropos, more than from any other motive, I think. He has not 
that faculty of saying little things that most men in society have, 
and I don’t know but that I like him the better for it. No one 
ever heard him talk scandal or make fun of any one or say unkind 
things of any one.” 

“ Did I say that he ever talked scandal or made fun of any 
one ? ” said Kate, drawing herself up. 

“ No,” said Gertrude, reflectively, “ I was only thinking of those 
people at the Beltons the other night, who found so much to ridi- 
cule in Mr. Yates’ conversation. They are the worst gossips in 
Washington. That Mr. Milliken, especially, who boasts of being 
a lady killer, thought it was funny to say that some one ought to 
give Mr. Yates lessons in the art of talking to a woman. He 
seems to have forgotten the lesson Mr. Yates gave him in the art 
of not talking about a woman, last summer, when he boasted of 
his success with that woman, that married lady, who was his 
friend, Mr. Yates’ I mean, at least her husband was,” continued 
Gertrude in some confusion. 


lOO 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


For, carried away by her ardor, she had made a reference which 
she instantly regretted. This Mr. Milliken was in fact no less a 
personage than the spurious Englishman, who had spent the pre- 
vious summer at Newport, and whom Mr. Yates in the after flush 
of a champagne dinner had attempted to thrash for insinuating 
that he, Milliken, was looked upon with favor by Mrs. Merrin. 
Kate knew perfectly well what Gertrude alluded to, for the affair 
had become common talk at the time in Newport society, and she 
instantly resented it. For with the recollection of Arthur’s atten- 
tion to the lady in question, Kate felt, even before Gertrude began 
to flounder in her speech, that he, Arthuif was being placed in the 
same category as the pitiable Milliken, his rival perhaps, while Mr. 
Yates on the other hand was exalted as the knightly exponent of 
honor. It was bad enough to have Gertrude declare herself so 
strongly in Mr. Yates’ favor, without having her make such an 
insinuation against Arthur. And the blood mounted to Kate’s 
cheeks and she was about to retort, when, changing her mind, she 
compressed her lips and turning away stood silently looking out of 
the window. 

This far fetched sensitiveness was easily accounted for in Kate, 
because she was always super-sensitive in regard to her brother, 
for whom she cherished a loyal and abiding love. But curiously 
enough Gertrude had been even quicker in seeing the unfortunate 
application of her words. She made a little deprecatory move- 
ment with her hand, and then feeling the impossibility of explana- 
tions, she remained silent. 

When the conversation was renewed some time after, it was in 
a desultory way with no further reference to Mr. Yates, and Kate 
soon departed on her 'shopping expedition alone. 

Then Gertrude, weary, dispirited and altogether out of sorts, 
leaned her head upon her hand and tried to think about what she 
had said to Kate. But her thoughts, in spite of her, returned 
instead to that scene on the balcony of the cupola with Mr. Yates. 
As his words sounded in her ears and his pale face and strange 
looking eyes appeared vividly before her, an apprehension of evil 
took possession of her. Unlike the tremor of fear she had felt in 
his presence, this was a vague unreasoning apprehension which 
increased as she reviewed Mr. Yates’ acts, words and association 
with herself in the light of his sudden flash of passion. Most 
alarming of all, she felt stirring in the bottom of her heart, a 
strange sort of interest in this man who had crept so stealthily 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


101 


into her life and had so dramatically thrown off his disguise. She 
wondered whether he would visit her again that day and what he 
would say and how he would act, subjects which had never before 
occupied her mind. She felt that in some way she would see a 
change in him, unaware that the change was in herself, that after 
that odd, fierce avowal of love, she never could regard him with 
indifference. Had she not defended him that very morning, 
defended him and wounded her dearest friend, and more, uttered 
words disloyal to the absent sailor, her boy comrade of former 
days, in the ardor of her defence } 

Thus, when these two met again, it was with a secret, though 
thorough, understanding that their relations were altered. Mr. 
Yates knew that he had disclosed his secret, and eagerly, hungrily, 
unreasonably, hunted for signs of encouragement in Gertrude’s 
every word and look. On the other hand, Gertrude, alarmed and 
uncertain, shrank back into the past, into her early youth, as a 
refuge ; this both mentally and outwardly, for she put on and 
wore a locket that Arthur had given her many years ago, while 
her manner to Mr. Yates changed from its unsuspecting freedom 
and tone of equality to the respectful reserve which had character- 
ized it in her earlier years. A change which, by contrast, seemed, 
no doubt, cold, constrained and repellant. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


“ I TELL you,” said Mr. Yates, striding up and down in Mrs. 
Arlingford’s parlor, “ I tell you she cares no more for me than for 
— for — for the ground, by Jove, that she steps on ! ” 

About a week had passed since his memorable walk with 
Gertrude. It was late in the night, and the large parlors were 
brilliantly lighted and decorated, while on the carpet bits of lace 
and crushed flowers told of departed guests. 

Mrs. Arlingford, still in deep black, was sitting on a sofa, lean- 
ing her head upon her hand and looking pale and tired, while 
Yates, in the conventional evening costume, strode uneasily back 
and forth in front of her. 

“ You know,” he continued, pausing in his restless walk, “you 
know as well as I do that Gertrude does not care a bit more for 
me to-day than she did a year ago ! ” 

And, nervously biting his nails, he looked with anxious eyes 
for a denial of this assertion. 

“ I have done my best,” said Mrs. Arlingford, wearily. 

But this was not what Yates wanted ; this was not what he 
had outstayed all the other guests for ; this afforded no relief to 
the fever of evil passions aroused by the trials of the past evening, 
trials more exasperating than any he had yet undergone. 

It was the evening of New Year’s Day, or rather it had been, 
and the old-fashioned custom of visiting had prevailed throughout 
the previous hours with that freedom and animation which 
formerly characterized the anniversary in Washington. 

A few days before, Mrs. Arlingford had told Gertrude that she 
would no longer seclude herself from society, now that her period 
of mourning was drawing to a close, and suggested that she invite 
Kate and other of her young friends to receive with her. 

This had been sufficient, when the holiday arrived, to crowd the 
house from morning until late in the night. It was the first time 
that Gertrude had received society in her own home, and it so 
happened that she achieved one of those successes which come 


102 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


103 


when least expected. Throughout the evening, when most of the 
visitors remained, she had been the centre of all eyes, the topic of 
all tongues, the magnet attracting general attention and admira- 
tion. Old hacks who had trotted in the social tread-mill of Wash- 
ington for forty years were moved to recall the dead and gone 
triumphs of former days, when the beautiful Mrs. This, or the 
lovely Miss That, had taken the town by storm. And as they 
wagged their gray polls over these musty reminiscences they 
conceded that this young woman, this Miss Gertrude Alden, was 
only one degree less charming, lacked but a point or two of being 
as witty, as graceful, as pretty or as fascinating as their respective 
by-gone favorites. 

At the same time the younger men stoutly maintained that 
there never had been, and never would be again, so charming a 
creature in Washington or out of it. And meanwhile old and 
young alike strove for honors at the debutante’s hand, schemed for 
a glance, and struggled for a word. 

It was a fever, a contagious fever, and every one caught it. It 
almost seemed as though Gertrude herself had infected them, so 
vivid was the color in her cheeks, so brilliantly did her eyes flash, 
so instantaneously did she respond to any and every word. Kate 
watched her with surprise, and grew uneasy, and yet was carried 
away with the rest. 

And throughout this memorable evening Mr. Yates stood at a 
distance, a forced spectator of the devotion of other men, men 
famous in all ranks of life, while he, obscure, inconsequent, hating 
himself and them, was crowded into remote corners and door- 
ways. Leaving his post of observation only at short intervals to 
hurriedly gulp down a glass of champagne, sherry, claret, he did 
not know what he drank. In the supper-room, he had stood in the 
crush unnoticed throughout the night, a prey to jealousy and 
despair. And now, having outstayed the rest of the guests, 
when he demanded encouragement, assurance, hope, demanded 
them as his right, as a starving man demands bread, Mrs. Arling- 
ford had cast him a stone. 

“ I have done my best,” she had said, intimating that there was 
no hope, that the failure was due to him, to the lack of those 
qualities the want of which he so keenly felt. “ I have done my 
best,” she added, wearily. “ I can do no more.” 

Then the repression of the night gave way, Yates’ self-control 
escaped him, and, raising his voice, he retorted furiously, “ What 


104 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


if you have done your best 1 What good does that do me ! Why 
did you tell me that you would make her marry me if you could 
not? You told me that, yes, you did! You told me that if I 
would put up the money that your husband took, I should have 
her for my wife ! And now that you have got the money out of 
me, you want to back out. But, damn me ! you have got to— to 
— to — ,” he faltered and stopped. 

Furious with wine and passion as he was, he was forced to stop 
by the sudden alteration in Mrs. Arlingford’s face as she gazed 
upon him. 

“ Well,” she said, very pale, “go on.” 

“ Haven’t I done everything that you asked me ? ” he said, in an 
unexpected revulsion of weakness, while the tears came into his 
eyes, “ and you said that before the year was out I should marry 
her, and it is a year since — since you told me.” 

“ Yes,” she replied, “ it is just a year.” 

“ Yes, it is' just a year, and I am no nearer to marrying her now 
than I was then,” said Yates, his features working convulsively. 

In sudden desperation Mrs. Arlingford advanced close to him, 
exclaiming, “ Paul Yates, has it been my fault ? Did I not tell 
tell you that I would do all in my power to make Gertrude your 
wife, and have I not ? But you, what have you done to help me ? ” 

“ Well, in the name of heaven,” exclaimed Yates, excitedly 
turning upon her, “ what am I to do ? Haven’t I spent money as 
if it were dirt, just to please her ? Didn’t I get a yacht, just to 
take her out ? Don’t I keep the best team in town just for the 
chance of driving her out once in a month ? Haven’t I let my 
business go to the dogs, just to be near her ? Look at all the 
presents I have given her ! Look at the bracelet I gave her 
Christmas ; it cost me seven hundred and fifty dollars, and the 
jeweler said it was well worth eight ! ” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Arlingford, “ and she returned it to you. She 
would not accept any of your presents but for me. Why ? Why, 
because you talk to her about them as though their cost laid her 
under an obligation to you. No wonder she returns them or 
throws them aside. Can you not understand that the cost of gifts 
is nothing to her, that she would value any trifle given her in 
friendship or affection more than all the money in the world ? ” 

“ Yes ! ” cried Yates, suddenly flying into a passion again. 
“ Like that locket she wore yesterday ! Do you know who gave 
her that?” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


105 


" No,” said Mrs. Arlingford. 

“ Well, I do !” said Yates, moving his head from side to side 
and with a contraction of his throat as though he was swallowing 
with difficulty. “I do ! It was that midshipman, that Arthur 
Arlingford ! I believe now that she cares more for his little 
finger than she does for all of me. I told you not to make me ask 
him to go to Newport with us last summer. Didn’t they sit to- 
gether all that evening on the yacht ? And I saw her give him 
her hand. Nobody else saw it, but I did ! ” 

And Yates resumed his agitated walk, moving a chair or fidget- 
ing with the ornam.ents on the table with a trembling hand as he 
strode around the room. 

“ If she knew as much about him as I do,” he continued, 
“ she would have mighty little to do with him, and I told her 
so.” 

“You told her so ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Arlingford. “ And when, 
pray, did you commit such a folly ? ” 

“ Folly or not,” said Yates, “I told her. I told her the very 
next morning when we got to Newport. Of course I did not 
tell her everything, I just told her that people were talking about 
him.” 

“ You did.^” said Mrs. Arlingford. “That was a wise thing to 
do !” 

“ I don’t care,” replied Yates roughly. 

He was standing by the mantel-piece now, with his head on 
his arms, looking down into the dying embers of the fire, and 
after his reply there followed a silence in the room, during which 
the lighted jets sang shrilly as the gas was turned off about the 
town. 

The air was growing cold, and Mrs. Arlingford finally arose 
and, wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders, said, “ This 
discussion is of no use. It is getting very late. We are both 
tired out. Come and see me to-morrow, and we will talk this 
over.” 

But Yates did not stir from his position. 

“Mr. Yates,” she said, putting her hand upon his arm, “it is 
getting very late.” 

Then he raised his head and looked at her strangely. His eyes 
were bloodshot and his face gaunt and pale, and she shrank from 
the gaze he fixed upon her ; she began to feel afraid of him in the 
silence and loneliness of the night. 


A BLIND ’BARGAIN. 


io6 

Deliberately, but with intense emotion, he said : “ I wish to 
God I had never seen you ! I would never have thought of mar- 
rying Gertrude but for you. If I had to go through again what I 
have gone through this last year, do you know what I would do ? 
I would blow my brains out ! ' And I am damnably tempted to do 
it anyway ! ” 

And with that he turned and walked out of the room, shutting 
the street door heavily. 

Mrs. Arlingford stood like one who had received an unexpected 
blow ; what little blood there was in her face forsook it entirely, 
and she stretched forth her hand in impotent protest against the 
threat. He looked so capable of carrying it out. 

This was the first time he had ever turned upon her so and 
with a new born dread stirring in her heart, a dread of the harvest 
that was ripening from the seed she had sown, she pressed her 
cold hands against her head, and murmured, “ What have I 
done ! ” 

At last, worn out and nervous, she crept upstairs to her room, 
and dismissing the sleepy maid, sank into a chair by the fire. As 
her thoughts drifted back through the last year she wondered how 
she had lived through it. She was tired of struggling against fate ; 
she longed for peace and rest with a great longing, but troubles 
only gathered darker and more menacing. Since her husband’s 
death, much of the love she had lavished on him had unwittingly 
centred on Gertrude. Naturally this warm, living presence, young 
and beautiful, could not help but render the memory of the dead 
cold and vague. She was frequently surprised at the strength of 
her feeling for Gertrude, at the depth of the pride and pleasure 
she took in the girl’s success. And with that proud affection had 
been growing an aversion for Mr. Yates that was beginning to 
make the idea of Gertrude marrying him, abhorrent. This fact 
added to her tribulations the reproach no longer to be denied, that 
she had not kept her bargain with Mr. Yates. She had not done 
all in her power to aid his suit. On the contrary, her sentiment had 
recently so clogged her power of action that it required her utmost 
vigilance not to work against his interests. This was to her no 
empty reproach. She had bolstered up her husband’s limp sense 
of honor during his life and maintained it after his death, until 
the high standard she had upheld became her own. It was hard 
to live up to it now and yet her conscience troubled her when she 
fell short of it much as though she had been born with this ac- 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


107 


quired sense. And Mr. Yates had that very night taxed her 
openly with falseness, with the meanness of having used his money 
to screen her husband’s name without rendering any return. Nor 
was this all ; to add to her"* distraction her very desire to escape 
from the compact which would sacrifice Gertrude, seemed like 
disloyalty to the love of her dead husband. That love had been 
the soul of her life. It had come to her when as a woman she 
had ceased to expect it. It was the only man’s love she had ever 
had. She had fed it with her heart’s blood, she had blinded her- 
self to every deficiency, every weakness, every vice of the young 
husband, and had devoted all her energies to blinding the world. 
She had robbed herself morally and mentally to build up his 
moral and mental deficiencies. She would have used herself up, 
body and soul, in the constant repair of this poor, clay image, had 
not Death interfered. And now, when the cooling hand of Time 
had abated her fever and put her work in a proper prospective she 
did not dare to acknowledge to herself that her life’s labor had 
been misplaced. Her last effort had been made to shield his 
name from the shame which attached to the breach of trust of 
which he had confessed himself guilty on his death bed. She had 
begun the work with all her might, but as the months passed by, 
her spirit flagged, her hand grew unnerved, and she would fain 
have abandoned the task. But she dared not, she dared not 
break her word to Mr. Yates, or break her troth with her dead 
husband. If she only might go away from all these old entangle- 
ments and associations, go and pass the remnant of her life quietly 
and peacefully in the sunlight of Gertrude’s young, unselfish love 
— but no, that could not be. 

And yet, after all, what reason had she to suppose that Ger- 
trude, even under pressure of her wish, would ever marry Mr. 
Yates? What if she should tell her that Mr. Yates loved her, 
wished her to be his wife ; what if she should set the case before 
her as fairly for Mr. Yates’ chances as she could, was there the 
slightest reason for supposing that Gertrude would accept him ? 
Had not her growing dread for such a result magnified its proba- 
bility? And forced now by Mr. Yates’ desperation, to grapple 
with the danger, Mrs. Arlingford went to the other extreme and 
belittled it until it almost disappeared. She wondered that she 
had not looked at the matter in this light before. Of course Ger- 
trude would not accept him ; there was absolutely nothing to in- 
duce her to do so excepting, of course, obedience to her, Mrs. 


io8 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Arlingford’s wish, and that obedience would scarcely be strained 
to such an extent. Mrs. Arlingford felt so relieved at this line of 
reasoning that she even began to smile at her former fears, and to 
dispel any lingering doubt fell to pitying Mr. Yates. Poor fellow, 
she felt quite sorry for him. This comparison, however, recalled 
Mr. Yates’ abrupt departure a few hours before, and as she 
remembered his reckless demeanor her new-born complacency 
sickened. What would he do ? Announce to the world her 
husband’s dishonor, and her wretched device to conceal it ! Or 
do himself, or her, maybe, — some bodily injury ! Perhaps it 
would be as well to write him a little note, telling him of her 
intention to speak to Gertrude, and urging him to be patient. 
And Mrs. Arlingford, turning to her desk, wrote a few lines pro- 
posing to send them in the morning. 

Mr. Yates, however, was destined never to receive the letter for, 
as sometimes happens when human beings undertake’ the manage- 
ment of each other’s affairs, an unforeseen event definitely settled 
the matter in a very different way from that anticipated by those 
concerned. 


CHAPTER XV. 


While Mrs. Arlingford was toiling over the problem that had 
been given her to solve, the object of her solicitude, Gertrude her- 
self, was holding as late a vigil. Instead of going to bed, as her 
aunt had bidden her hours ago, daylight found her sitting before 
the fire in her own room, no longer the brilliant debutante, but a 
listless, pale and most unhappy looking young woman. 

New Year’s Day had dawned brilliantly for her, this New Year’s 
Day which she was to celebrate for the first time by “ receiving.” 
The weather in itself was exhilarating enough without the aid of 
the cheerful bustle of preparation going on in the house. With 
youth and beauty and good health and the anticipation of pleasure 
to come, this day of all others bade fair to be one of the happiest 
of Gertrude’s life. But before night fell it proved to be the most 
unhappy. The day’s excitement and the night’s homage became 
but a diversion. She was remarkably radiant and beautiful, but 
it was as one is radiant and beautiful in a high fever. When the 
excitement had subsided the reaction came and left her exhausted. 
The fact was that Gertrude had that afternoon been poisoned by 
that venomous thing known as an anonymous letter. 

The worldly wise may smile and shake their heads and talk of 
destroying such missives without giving them a second thought, 
but the oldest, time-scarred veteran among us all is not impervious 
to the insidious virus contained in an anonymous letter. No rea- 
son, no argument, will antidote it. 

And Gertrude succumbed to it — not without a struggle, not 
without many struggles, but none the less surely. 

This letter, which had arrived late in the day, was postmarked 
Paris, and was written in a disguised hand, evidently a woman’s. 

“ I write to you,” it said, “ to let you know that a certain navy 
officer, Mr. A., is not the sort of gentleman for you to encourage. 
He said before a whole lot of people that you were in love with 
him, and that he was sorry for you, because thv “e was positively 
no hope. I will say that I believe Mr. A. had be.n drinking too 

109 


no 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


much wine, but that is no excuse for a man saying a thing like 
that about a lady, especially as there were people there who knew 
you, and some of them know that you have always been very 
friendly with Mr. A., and are inclined to believe what he said is 
true. A Friend. 

“ P. S. — They say that you have a rival in a certain Mrs. M., 
who has been visiting Naples. She has been receiving lots of 
attention from everybody, but he is particularly devoted.” 

The malicious motive of this note was so manifest ; the conduct 
ascribed to Arthur was so foreign to his character, as Gertrude 
knew it ; it was so evident that the writer’s intent was to arouse 
her pride and indignation against him beyond quelling, knowing 
well that she would scorn to question him — all this was so plain 
that with any of the worldly wise people aforementioned, it might 
have overshot its mark. 

But Gertrude was not of this class. She did not stop to reason 
or criticise. It was not a question of thought with her, but of 
feeling. When the meaning of the words broke through her 
unsuspecting innocence and penetrated her heart, she grew cold 
and sick. She did not know what to do with the poisonous 
intruders. Dazed and bewildered, she looked helplessly around in 
search of help, of assistance, in her need. But in that moment 
even her intimate surroundings seemed to have changed their 
aspect. She felt as though she had just returned to the room 
from a long absence, every familiar object appeared so strange. 
The furniture, the pictures, the ornaments, all the little odds and 
ends about the apartment so imbued with her daily life, seemed 
sentient things "Chich were silently aware of the dreadful, humil- 
iating charge. 

She grew nervous and thought she was about to faint, and, put- 
ting her hand to her throat, she started to her feet. As she did so 
her fingers came in contact with a small blue locket that was fas- 
tened to a velvet band around her neck, Arthur’s locket. It acted 
as a touchstone and restored to Gertrude full possession of her 
senses. Hurriedly unfastening the band, she placed it on the 
table. Then opening wide the window she stood in the frosty air 
trying to recover herself. Presently she came back to the table 
and read the letter again. 

Then at last the blood began to course once more through her 
veins more and more rapidly, until her receding faculties paused 
and, gathering force, swept back again like a wave and broke in a 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Ill 


torrent of contempt and indignation. Tearing the letter into frag- 
ments, she threw the pieces on the floor, and, putting her foot 
upon them, while her eyes grew hot and her breath came hard 
and fast, she whispered to herself, “ It is false ! He never said it ! 
How dare they write such a thing to me ! ” 

Shaking back the damp hair from her forehead, she paced the 
floor, her hands clenching and unclenching themselves, her breast 
heaving and the hot blood dyeing her cheeks, repeating, “ It is 
false ! How dare they ! Oh, how dare they ! ” until, exhausted 
by her emotion, she sank into a chair and hid her face in her 
trembling hands. 

But the moment her ebullition of passion had subsided, her 
thoughts, like flies, grew busy with the wound. The words of the 
letter danced before her eyes, each obtruding itself upon her 
notice, insisting on being read again and again, mocking her, 
taunting her with their possibilities of truth, while at each noise, 
the clink of the falling ashes or the closing of a distant door, she 
started guiltily and shrank within herself. 

And what even if Arthur had not uttered the words ? Other 
people must have had the thought and said it ! Even if no one 
but the writer of this wretched note had conceived such a thing, 
that was one person, and that was intolerable. And all the time 
that she cried so vehemently “ It is false ! Arthur never said such 
a thing ! ” she was aware that down in the bottom of her heart 
there was a miserable little doubt crawling, insinuating itself into 
her nobler wrath with disloyal “ mights ” and “ ifs,” with officious 
sympathy picturing circumstances under which Arthur could be 
pardoned or excused for hinting such a thing, for of course it was 
exaggerated, and he never could have expressed himself exactly as 
the letter charged ! 

Bewildered by these fancies, she turned from them, sick in mind 
and body. Through it all she could not quite understand where 
the deathly hurt was. Until at last, as the Inquisitor of old 
stretched an unwilling witness on the rack to extort his testimony, 
so Gertrude fiercely turned upon herself and commenced to lay 
bare her heart, determined to discover what word or act of hers 
could ever give birth to such a shameful accusation. 

From the day when she first met Arthur in the Carleton railway 
station, after their long separation, to the night when he left New- 
port to join his ship, she recalled every act, every word of hers and 
of his, and, holding it up in the pitiless light of this letter, she 


112 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


scanned it with unflinching severity. She knew who this “ lady ” 
who had been visiting Naples was, this woman to whom Arthur 
was so attentive, this “ rival ! ” And as she repeated the odious 
word she felt in her heart as though she could do some mortal 
injury to the person who had offered her this last unpardonable 
insult. Her rival, indeed ! Yes, she knew who this woman was. 
For every Friday afternoon since Arthur’s departure, Gertrude had 
purchased the The Army and Navy News. And in the last num- 
ber there had been a long article descriptive of a reception aboard 
the “ Comet,” and among the guests had appeared the name of 
Mrs. Alfred Merrin of New York. Her meeting with Mrs. Merrin 
at the ball at the Marine College was fresh enough in her memory. 
At the time, her attention had been drawn to the woman by her 
pertinacity in claiming Arthur for a dance which she, Gertrude, 
saw plainly enough did not belong to her, and she had been sur- 
prised at Arthur’s prompt, though grave, acquiescence. Her 
thoughts had persisted in reverting to the occurrence all that 
evening, with a strange feeling of unrest which the triviality of the 
incident did not warrant. Rumor, gossip and after-events did, 
however, warrant the sensation of repugnance which she had 
experienced at their first encounter for this black-eyed, red-lipped 
beauty. And now she had lived to hear this woman spoken of as 
her “ rival ” ! With her lips pressed together and her eyes half 
closed, Gertrude’s soul was darkened for a moment with intense 
hatred of Mrs. Merrin. 

Then her thoughts groped their way from the night of this ball 
and the tragic news which had marked its ending, to the sad jour- 
ney back to Washington, her uncle’s funeral, her aunt’s despair, 
and Arthur’s comradeship, which had lightened and warmed for 
her those dark and gloomy days. As she recalled the long walks 
and conversations she and Arthur had had together during this 
period when the grief of their elders had left them much alone, 
Gertrude lost herself in the memory, forgetful for the moment of 
the cause of this retrospect. In those sad days he was like the 
Arthur of their early years, who cared only for her companion- 
ship, who was so thoughtful, so tender and gentle and yet withal 
so strong and brave. And a wistful smile trembled around her 
mouth, and her eyes grew moist as she recalled incident after inci- 
dent of their long friendship, and her lips unconsciously whispered, 
“ My own dear boy ! ” 

How little he knew, how little any of them knew, at the time of 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


1 13 

the graduation ceremonies at Carleton, when Kate had reproached 
her for being indifferent to his triumph in winning the boat race, 
that she had whispered those same words to herself throughout 
the struggle. They had been surprised because he had won. 
She had not ; she knew he would win. Not care ? There was 
not a person in that great crowd, no, not even his mother, who 
was prouder of him than she. She would not let him know it, she 
scarcely knew why. No one knew how much she cared, except, 
perhaps, Mr. Dudley. He cared so much for Arthur and, well, 
yes, for her, too, that he had guessed it on looking up into her 
face when Arthur made his last desperate effort. .She thought of 
Dudley now, in a vague way as her fancy, relieved from the stress 
put upon it, gladly wandered aimlessly away. But arriving 
aboard the “ Comet ” in the harbor of Naples, her thoughts, with a 
quick rebound, returned to the wretched letter which lay in frag- 
ments at her feet. Clenching her hands, she arose quickly and 
paced the floor, fiercely, indignantly, forcing her thoughts away 
from light memories to the task she had set them, the task 
of finding a reason in her past conduct for this disgraceful 
charge. 

Had she done an unmaidenly thing in asking Arthur to go with 
them on the yacht to Newport ? Surely not. She had asked him 
because Kate had wished it, and she had told him so. 

Then, standing with her hands clasped before her and her eyes 
upon the floor, she went over the long conversation they had had 
that moonlight night on the water. She remembered every 
word. She remembered her distress at hearing him say that 
he was not good, that he no longer believed in the religion 
they had both been taught to believe, that he was outside 
the sanctuary of the church, and her secret longing to be the 
means of bringing him back, to go out to him in the darkness 
in which he had lost himself and save him, or, yes — remain 
there with him to help him in his hour of need, as she had 
used to do when he had got himself into trouble with his earthly 
father. And when he recalled those days, and said that if any 
one could help him to be good, it was she, that she used to when 
they were children, did she remember ? She had, indeed, remem- 
bered, and in silent sympathy had placed her hand in his. It was 
a simple act of friendship. She had often thought of it since, but 
never had it seemed unwarranted or unwomanly. And yet, now, 
in the light of that letter ! Was it possible, oh, could it be possi- 
8 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


II4 

ble that he had misconstrued it ! And the blood slowly mantled 
her cheeks. 

Then, like a flash of light making all dazzlingly clear where 
before was doubt and obscurity, came the memory of Arthur’s 
strange conduct the next night at the ball at the Casino. Was it 
so, then ! She never had understood the meaning of his pointed 
neglect of the most ordinary attention to her that night. Was 
this the solution of the riddle! Fool, that she had been! Was 
it not plain enough ? He had flaunted his devotion to that 
woman in her face to let her, Gertrude, understand that his child- 
ish attachment was a thing of the past and not to be renewed by 
a pressure of the hand. She had cried that night after he had 
gone, because she had felt hurt and humiliated, and that, too, by 
the only man who had the power to hurt and humiliate her ; but 
she had not understood the extent of her wrong. Other people 
had seen what he meant, had understood it, only she had been 
stupid and blind ! So blind and stupid that it had needed this 
cruel blow to open her eyes ! 

“ Why, God help me ! ” she cried, “ that must be it ! ” And the 
blood mounted to her temples and she grew hot from head to 
foot, while the moisture gathered on her forehead, and her fingers 
rubbed the palms of her hands, as she stood aghast at the idea. 
Then with her eyes filling and her teeth biting into her lip, her 
whole form seemed to droop and wilt. Sinking to the floor by 
the chair she had occupied, she hid her face in her arms and burst 
into tears. 

It was a long while before Gertrude’s sobs died away in the 
silence of the room. Finally raising her head, she leaned her arm 
upon the chair and with her cheek upon her hand she gazed list- 
lessly into the fire. As the glowing coals shifted and settled, 
fragments of scenes and words from the forgotten past, irrelevant 
trifles, drifted aimlessly across her mind. She regarded them 
apathetically, letting her fancy float after them or away from them 
with indifference. 

An hour passed by and the fire was almost out. At last, 
chilled and constrained by her fixed attitude, she arose, with a 
deep sigh. As though following some train of ideas, she went to 
a cabinet in the corner of the room and took from a secret recess 
a box and emptied its contents on the table. There was a package 
of letters in a boyish hand, blotted and scratched and unevenly 
folded, a tiny gold ring, a heart made of shell and a number of 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


II5 

Other trifies pertaining to the era of childhood. Then there were 
a few dried flowers, some “ German favors,” notes and invitations 
to various social entertainments at the Marine College. Near 
these lay the blue locket which she had discarded. Taking this 
up she opened it, disclosing on one side a picture of Arthur when 
a boy and on the other a curl of soft brown hair. Whatever had 
been her intention in bringing out these other mementoes, Ger- 
trude seemed to have forgotten it as she gazed at this. 

For a long time she stood lost in thought, her color gradually 
coming and going, her breast rising and falling, and a warm mist 
suffusing her eyes. Suddenly she pressed the locket to her lips 
again and again with passionate vehemence, and cried aloud with 
a sort of defiance, “ It is true ! It is all true ! I do love him, I love 
him, but— ” With trembling hands she gathered- up the little 
mementoes and quietly put them in the fire. Then with a very 
pale face and a long, deep breath she drew herself erect and said, 
“ There is an end of it ! ” 

A few hours later and Gertrude was fascinating old and young 
in her large assemblage of guests by her splendid beauty, her ready 
wit and radiant animation. Never had her color been so rich or 
her eyes so bright. It was unnatural, some of the elderly ladies 
present thought, and whispered to each other what a pity it was 
that so young and pretty a girl should resort to artificial means to 
heighten her own natural charms. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


It was noon of the day following the reception. Gertrude, in a 
dainty tea-gown, sat by the window of her room. A book lay 
open in her lap, but her gaze was fixed listlessly on the flakes of 
snow that were drifting outside, while the dark circles under her 
eyes and the paleness of her face betokened little interest in Her 
present surroundings. 

There was a tap at the door and Mrs. Arlingford’s maid 
appeared, bearing a salver. 

“ I have brought you your breakfast. Miss,” she said. “ I did not 
think you would be up so soon. I’ll fix it for you here by the fire.” 

Gertrude watched the woman’s movements with that languid 
interest which convalescents from severe illness feel in small mat- 
ters. Then as the maid urged her to come and eat, she answered 
fretfully, “ Leave it there, Mary, I’ll come presently.” 

“ Very well, Miss, only you had better take it while it is hot.” 
Then, as she was leaving the room, the servant added, “ Your 
aunt. Miss, told me to say, if you were up, that she w.ould like to 
see you after you have had your breakfast.” 

“ Very well,” replied Gertrude, “ tell my aunt I will be with 
her in a moment.” 

Rising as the door closed, she went to the table, and, pouring 
out a cup of coffee, drank it slowly, standing by the fire. Taking 
up a mirror she looked at her pale face and dark eyes, then, with 
a slight shrug of indifference, she put the glass down and went to 
her^ aunt’s room. She found that lady paler and more hollow- 
eyed than herself ; in fact, Gertrude thought she had never seen 
her aunt look so old and haggard. 

“ Are you not feeling well. Aunt Mary ? ” she said, after the 
usual morning greetings, seating herself by the lounge, on which 
Mrs. Arlingford was lying. 

“ I have a slight headache,” said her aunt. “ It is nothing 
much. I am getting too old to be able to stay up late at night 
without paying for it.” 

ii6 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


II7 

“ I am sorry you don’t feel well," said Gertrude. “ I would 
have been in before, only I thought you were asleep.” 

, “ How does it happen that you are up so early ? ” said her 
aunt. “ You look pale, too, I hope you did not get tired last 
night. Did you enjoy yourself ? ” 

“ Very rnuch,” replied Gertrude, abstractedly, “very much 
indeed.” 

“ I thought you did,” said her aunt. “ I never saw you look so 
.well. I felt quite proud of you. I am afraid it would make you 
vain if I was to tell you all the compliments you received,” she 
added, with an effort at playfulness that sounded to her own ears 
so feigned as to make her uneasy lest Gertrude should detect its 
hollowness. 

“ It was very good of you to go to so much trouble on my 
account,” said Gertrude, “and I am glad that you were pleased 
with me. You have always been very good to me. I wish I 
could make you some return.” 

“Don’t say that,” said Mrs. Arlingford, hastily; “you are a 
dear child, and have always been a great comfort to me. Just 
continue to be to me what you are — l ask for nothing else.” 

With her mind intent on the communication she was about to 
make, Mrs. Arlingford applied Gertrude’s words instantly to that 
subject. She was guiltily suspicious of her preoccupied manner, 
and this remark 'made her heart leap with fear. It sounded as 
though^ Gertrude was willing to sacrifice herself upon the altar 
which Mrs:- Arlingford had built. Her words of gratitude and 
affection, too, at this time, made her heart sick. 

Ever since the early dawn, when the fact had been forced upon 
her that the time had come when she must speak to Gertrude 
about Mr. Yates, she had been nerving herself up to the effort. 
But now all her determination was leaving her. She felt as 
though she could not make so much as the remotest suggestion of 
the alliance she had plotted. Her mind turned this way and that 
in the effort to escape, as it had successfully done on previous 
occasions. A dozen times she declared to herself that she would 
postpone the matter until later in the day, but each time Mr. Yates’ 
parting words rang in her ears, and with the unshaped dread they 
had inspired she felt that she dared not shirk the task.' The crisis 
of the past year had come, and it must be met. After all, what 
did it matter.? Gertrude would certainly refuse to marry Mr. 
Yates, and all the words that she, Mrs. Arlingford, might utter 


ii8 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


would be powerless to alter her decision. The poor man had him- 
self ruined his own prospects. 

Then Mrs. Arlingford nervously coughed, preparatory to saying 
something, she scarcely knew what, when, to her consternation, 
Gertrude broached the subject that lay hidden in her mind. 

“ I am afraid you took cold last night,” she said. “ Why did 
you let Mr. Yates keep you down-stairs so long.^ ” 

“ He wanted to talk to me,” said Mrs. Arlingford, mechanically, 
with a feeling that all this had been done and said long before in 
some dim age, “ he wanted to talk to me about you.” 

“Yes.^” said Gertrude, still quietly, although the color came 
slowly into her face. 

“ Yes, my dear, Mr. Yates loves you and wants to marry you.” 

Naturally enough Mrs. Arlingford expected that this disclosure, 
which had halted upon her tongue for so many weary months and 
which at last had required all her strength of will to utter, would 
produce a commensurately startling effect. As one deceived into 
making a desperate leap downward in the darkness is jarred by 
finding only the level ground in front, so Mrs. Arlingford was 
bewildered by the calm, matter-of-fact manner in which Gertrude 
received her announcement. For, without even raising her head, 
she simply replied, “ Indeed ! ” in a cold, inquiring tone. At the 
same time a curiously hard expression came into her face, a droop- 
ing of the eyelids, and compressing of the lips, that was not 
pretty. 

Mrs. Arlingford was relieved and yet puzzled. Feeling that she 
must say something, she mechanically uttered the stereotyped 
phrase, “ Perhaps I have been too sudden. Was it entirely unex- 
pected, my dear ? ” 

“ I knew that he cared for me,” said Gertrude ; “ I did not 
know that he wanted — to marry me.” 

“Well, well,” replied Mrs. Arlingford, wearied by the reaction, 
now that the crisis was past, and anxious for a rest, “ there is no 
necessity for you to worry about it now. We will talk it all over 
some other time.” And then, with a certain constraint as if dis- 
charging a duty, she added, “ Mr. Yates is a very estimable man. 
He has been a good friend to your poor uncle and to me. I 
believe that he — that he would— make you a good husband,” she 
was going to say, but her lips refused to utter the lie and she con- 
cluded, lamely, “ would try to make you happy.” 

“ Aunt Mary,” said Gertrude, raising her head with an air of 


A BLIND BARGAIN. I19 

determination and meeting Mrs. Arlingford’s eyes, “you would 
like me to marry Mr. Yates, would you not.^ ” 

Mrs. Arlingford stared at her niece blankly for a moment, and 
then a slight color stole into her pale, careworn face, and she 
evaded Gertrude’s gaze and looked uneasily to the right and to 
the left. Finally she exclaimed in an injured, irritated voice, “ I 
want you to consult your own happiness. Gertrude.” 

“ But would it please you. Aunt Mary ? ” persisted Gertrude. 
“ You have always seemed to think so highly of Mr. Yates,” she 
continued, as Mrs. Arlingford made no reply, “ and somehow I 
have an idea that you would like to have me 'marry him. You 
have been like a mother to me, auntie, dear, and — and — ” 

As Gertrude hesitated Mrs. Arlingford said mechanically, “ And 
what ? ” 

“ And if you wish it,” said Gertrude, “ I will marry Mr. Yates.” 

“ What ! ” cried Mrs. Arlingford, arising from the sofa, “ you 
will marry him ! You will marry Mr. Yates ! Gertrude, are you 
mad ? ” And then, as Gertrude’s apathy gave way to a look of 
astonishment, she continued, in a moderated tone, “ I don’t quite 
understand. I did not know that you loved Mr. Yates.” 

“ I don’t,” replied Gertrude, slowly shaking her head. 

“ You don’t love him ? Then why are you willing to marry 
him ? ” exclaimed Mrs. Arlingford, struggling to repress her agita- 
tion. For a moment Gertrude made no reply. Although she 
maintained her forced calmness and passive demeanor, she 
appeared puzzled by her aunt’s words and manner. A slight 
gleam of hope, of relief, of something difficult to define, came into 
her face. 

“ Why are you willing to marry Mr. Yates, Gertrude ? ” 

And as Mrs. Arlingford repeated the question peremptorily, she 
came and stood in front of the girl, watching her closely. 

With her lowered eyes fastened upon a ring which she slowly 
twisted upon her finger, Gertrude, pale and thoughtful, at first 
made no answer. Then finally looking up and meeting her aunt’s 
gaze, she calmly replied, 

“I am willing to marry him because you wish it.” 

“ But I don’t wish it ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Arlingford, and then sud- 
denly remembering her compact she hastily added, “ That is, of 
course, I do wish it, but — oh, I don’t know what I am saying ! ” 
she cried, nervously intertwining her fingers. With a sudden 
effort she controlled herself, and laying her hand on Gertrude’s 


120 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


shoulder, she continued, “ I don’t want to lose my girl. The idea 
of your marrying any one, of your marrying at all, has upset me.” 

“ Don’t worry about me, auntie, ” said Gertrude, coldly, “ it 
does not matter.” 

“ But it does matter ! ” replied Mrs. Arlingford, with asperity. 
“ Have you no feeling on such a subject? Most girls have.” 

“ No,” said Gertrude. 

“ That is very strange,” said her aunt. “ I don’t think you are 
entirely frank with me.” 

To which Gertrude made no reply. 

“Well, well,’’ said her aunt, “ leave me now for a little while. 
I am tired and nervous this morning ; we will talk of this again. 

I think I will try and get a little rest.” 

Gertrude arose, and kissing her aunt, silently left the room. 
The door had scarcely closed upon her when a servant entered 
with the announcement that Mr. Yates was in the parlor and de- 
sired to see Mrs. Arlingford. 

“ Tell him that I cannot see him,” replied Mrs. Arlingford 
abruptly. “ Say that I am not well, and that he must excuse me. 
Ask him to call again this afternoon.” 

“ He says that he would like very much to see you just for a 
moment, ma'am,” ventured the girl. 

“ Do as I tell you ! ” interrupted Mrs. Arlingford, sharply. 

Then as the door closed, she sank into a chair, and burying her 
face in her hands rocked to and fro, murmuring to herself, “ Was 
ever a woman so tried as I am ! She leaves it to me to decide. 
Me of all persons. Oh, I cannot do it ! I cannot ! ” 

Again there was a tap at the door, and Mrs. Arlingford raising 
her head, cried angrily, “ Who is there ? ” 

The voice of her maid replied, “It is me, ma’am, can I speak to 
you just a minute, if you please ? ” 

“ Come in, in Heaven’s name ! Cannot I have a moment’s 
peace I What do you want ? ” 

“ I beg your pardon, ma’am. I’m sure,” said the woman, in 
great trepidation, “ but Mr. Yates, he acts so queer. I gave him 
your message and he talked so strange and said he must see you 
or something would happen. And he made me bring this card up 
for you to read. I told him you were sick, but he would not listen 
to me.” 

Mrs. Arlingford took the card from her hand and read the hur- 
riedly scrawled words : 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


I2I 


“ I can’t stand this any longer ! I want this business ended 
right now. You must see me ! ” 

“If I musty” said Mrs. Arlingford grimly to herself, “ I suppose 
I must. Show Mr. Yates up,” she continued to the servant. 

She had passed her hysterical state now and had arrived at a 
condition when, being worn out she did not care very much what 
happened. Nevertheless she was startled at Mr. Yates’ appear- 
ance when he entered. His skin was pale and his features 
worked nervously, his face was like a grotesque mask, from which 
the drunken devil that had put it on peeped through bloodshot 
eyes, ripe for mischief. Mr. Yates’ appearance . might well have 
startled any woman. Mrs. Arlingford assumed a dignity she was 
far from feeling, as he sto@d silently before her and said, “ Well, 
sir, you insist on seeing me, notwithstanding that I tell you I am 
sick. What is it you have to say ? ” 

“ This business has got to come to an end, that’s all,” said 
Yates, compressing his pale lips. 

“Mr. Yates,” said Mrs. Arlingford, arising to her feet in sudden 
desperation, “ last night you told me that you wished to God that 
you had never laid your eyes on my face. I can tell you, sir, that 
you don’t wish it more earnestly than I do at this moment. I rue 
the day that I ever met you, and I would give everything I have 
in the world to be rid of you forever ! ” 

“You would ?” retorted Yates fiercely. “But I notice all the 
same you were glad enough to have me around when your hus- 
band died without a cent to pay back what he stole ! You started 
all this — I didn’t ! And now you want to get out of it ! I know 
it ! I’m not blind, am I I can see well enough that you don’t 
want me to marry Gertrude ! But you’ve got to keep your prom- 
ise, just the same ! And now I want to know, once and for all, 
are you going to make her marry me or not ? Say ! ” 

For a moment Mrs. Arlingford stood silently looking at him, 
overwhelmed by his fiery manner of speech, sick with worry and 
fear. “ How can I make her marry you } ” she finally cried. 

“That is nothing to me,” said Yates, doggedly. “You were 
ready enough to say that you could when you wanted my help. 
Are you going to give her to me or not.^ ” 

Again Mrs. Arlingford silently looked at him. There had been 
a time, not very long ago, when she had felt only contempt for 
this man, who had been as a puppet in her hands. Now she 
feared him, and he knew it. In vain did she struggle with herself 


122 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


to meet his inflamed, glassy eyes without flinching ; it was a mortal 
battle for which she was unequal. Worn out by the emotion and 
physical exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours, her fortitude 
gave way beneath his threatening gaze, and she sank back in her 
chair with a groan. 

“ Well ! ” demanded Yates, with drunken defiance. 

“ I have spoken to her,” said Mrs. Arlingford, feebly. 

“You have! "cried Yates, advancing close to her, his eyes 
blazing and his hot breath almost in her face. “ What did she 
say ? ” 

As Mrs. Arlingford shrank back she felt a sudden sense of re- 
lief that Gertrude had put it in her power to make the answer a 
favorable one. Personal violence seemed at this moment so im- 
minent, and she thought with a gasp of horror of becoming the 
subject of a brutal assault. Yet, in her physical fear, the idea of 
sacrificing Gertrude to him seemed so dreadful that even to save 
herself she hesitated. 

Then Mr. Yates pressed still closer. She looked up at the sav- 
age eyes of the man standing over her, and as he repeated with 
monotonous iteration, “Well.? well,? well.? "she finally answered, 
as a chidden child might have said the hated lesson, “ She is 
willing to do as I say.” 

“ Then she will marry me ! ” cried Yates. “ She will marry me .? ” 

“ I suppose so,” said Mrs. Arlingford. 

“ That won’t do ! ’’retorted Yates, roughly. “ I’ve had enough 
of that ! Say yes or no, whether she shall marry me, or, by God ! 
I’ll — ” and a step nearer and a significant shake of the head fin- 
ished the sentence. 

“ Oh, yes, yes,” cried Mrs. Arlingford, shrinking back and ex- 
tending her trembling, withered hands appealingly. 

Staring at her stupidly for a moment, as though his mind was 
unable to receive this surrender in time to quell the brutal 
instincts which were getting control of him, Yates finally turned 
away muttering to himself, “ I’ll go and tell her what you say. I’ll 
settle this matter right now. She shall marry me, or I’ll know the 
reason why ! I’m as good a man as any of them ! ” 

Fumbling with the door, unable to open it, he glanced back 
suspiciously at Mrs. Arlingford, sitting motionless in her chair, 
then succeeding in turning the handle, and still muttering incoher- 
ently, he left the room. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Half an hour later Gertrude knocked at her aunt's apartments 
and receiving no response, softly entered. At first she thought 
her aunt "was asleep in her chair and was about to withdraw, but 
detecting something unnatural in her appearance, she discovered 
that she had fainted. Hastily summoning assistance, Gertrude 
revived her with some difficulty and got her to bed. The doctor 
being sent for announced that Mrs. Arlingford was suffering from 
nervous prostration. The unusual social demands of New 
Year’s Day had evidently overtaxed her strength, and she must 
be kept quiet and entirely free from any disturbing influences. 
It was not the first time that the lady had had such an attack, 
but it was the first time that the old doctor, who had been the 
Arlingford’s family physician time out of mind, had impressed 
Gertrude uneasily with a sense of responsibility in the care of her 
aunt. 

For three days and nights she did not leave the patient’s bed- 
side, and during that time she did not permit her to revert to the 
subject that was uppermost in the minds of both, so that it was 
not until the fourth day, when her aunt was convalescent and sit- 
ting propped up in an easy chair, that Gertrude told her of her in- 
terview with Mr. Yates. 

“ He was very much excited,” she said, in a perfunctory manner, 
as though the story concerned some one else, “ and he acted very 
strangely. He told me that he had loved me ever since I was a 
child, and would give me anything and do everything to make me 
happy, and all that. And he cried about it. I told him I did not 
love him, and that I did not think I ever would love him, but that 
I respected him and that if you desired it and he was willing to 
accept me under these conditions, I would marry him.” All this 
without a change of color or other indication of feeling. 

“He told me,” she continued, “ that he had just left you and 
that you did wish it very much, that you had wished it for a year. 
And he recalled to my mind things you had said and done, show- 

123 


124 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


ing how much you wished it. Did you really desire it so much, 
auntie, dear } And are you satisfied now ? ” 

The poor woman gazed at the fire with an immovable coun- 
tenance and made no reply. 

“ I am so glad to be able to do something to make you happy," 
continued Gertrude, anxiously seeking for an assurance that her 
reckless act carried some good to some one she loved ; “ to be able 
to feel as though I was making some return to you for all your 
kindness to me."’ Then noticing a tear slowly making its escape 
from Mrs. Arlingford’s half closed eyes, she continued, “ There, 
there, I won’t talk about it any more.” 

“ Go on," said Mrs. Arlingford. 

“ But that is all,” said Gertrude, “ except that a little while ago 
he brought me this." And she held up her hand, on the third 
finger of which was a magnificent solitaire diamond. 

“What is the matter with your hand .?" said her aunt. For 
Gertrude had her handkerchief bound around it. 

The color flamed in the girl’s pale cheeks as she replied, 

“ Nothing,” at the same time removing the bit of lace. Her 
color deepened as she looked at her hand and a curious expres- 
sion came into her face. Mr. Yates’ lips had been pressed upon 
that hand after he had placed the ring upon it, and Gertrude, in 
the privacy of her own room, had roughly tried to scour the kiss 
away. But it had burned and corroded deeper than she knew, 
too deep to be effaced, and instinctively she concealed the place in 
her handkerchief as though it had been a shameful scar. 

“ But, Gertrude, dear,” said her aunt, pleadingly, ‘‘ I would not 
wear the ring just yet. Something may happen to break this en- 
gagement : there is no necessity for making it known. In fact," 
she added, with a feeble attempt at resuming her old authority, 
which these recent events seemed to have weakened, “ in fact I do 
not think it wise that you should do so. It is not at all certain 
that you will marry Mr. Yates, after all, and it is best that your en- 
gagement should not be known." 

“ But I want it known,” said Gertrude, determinedly, almost de- 
fiantly. And then as she felt her aunt’s dim eyes fixed upon her 
curiously, she arose and said lightly, “ It would become known 
anyway. These things always do, and I would rather make no 
secret of it.” 

And before the matter was twenty-four hours older it was the 
talk of the town. And those good ladies, mothers of marriage- 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


125 


able daughters themselves, who had denounced Gertrude’s co- 
quettish frivolity in not getting married, declared that it was very 
strange that so young and pretty a girl should marry such a very 
ordinary individual as Mr. Yates. They wondered that Mrs. Ar- 
lingford would sanction it. It was really very odd. While the 
young ladies themselves protested that after all the talk about 
Gertrude Alden’s success, her beauty and her money and all the 
rest of it, she had made a very queer match. At the same time 
“ congratulations ” poured in upon the prospective bride from 
every quarter. 

There was one marked exception in this general felicitation. 
None came from the old mansion on Lafayette Square where 
Catherine, the mother of Arthur, and Kate, his loyal sister, 
mourned over the death of their cherished hopes. 

They learned the news from Gertrude herself during her aunt’s 
illness. She told it in the matter-of-fact, indifferent way in which 
she had confided it to her aunt. She had come over to see Kate 
for a few moments while her patient was asleep, and standing by 
the window tapping her hand with one of her gloves, she half 
turned around to where Mrs. Arlingford was sitting by the fire, 
and said, 

“ I suppose I ought to tell you the first, Aunt Catherine. I am 
engaged to Mr. Yates.” 

Kate, who was sitting near dropped the embroidery on which 
she was at work, and looking at Gertrude in a startled way to see 
if she was in earnest, exclaimed in a deprecatory, protesting tone, 

“ Oh, Gertrude ! ” 

“ Oh, Katie ! ” retorted Gertrude in mimicry, which, however, 
was not very mirthful in its tone. 

And straightway Kate began to weep. 

“ It seems to me a very odd way you have of congratulating 
me,” said Gertrude. 

“ I don’t care,” said Kate, bitterly, “ I can’t congratulate you.” 

“ And why not ? ” exclaimed Gertrude resentfully. “ Mr. Yates 
is a gentleman, is he not ? He is honest, and brave, and generous, 
and he is certainly an honorable man ! ” And Gertrude’s eyes 
flashed and her lips compressed as she emphasized the word, 
thinking no doubt of that other man who, if the letter spoke truth, 
was not so honorable. 

But Kate made no other response than to seek her handkerchief 
and dry her eyes. 


26 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Then Mrs. Arlingford, who had remained silent all this time, 
arose, and, going to Gertrude’s side, put her arms around her 
neck and whispered, “ I congratulate you, my pet, and I will pray 
for you every night that you may be very happy. ” 

The sudden reaction from defiance to the tenderness of her 
aunt’s caress was almost too much for Gertrude’s power of self- 
control. For the last few days her nerves had been strung up 
with an unnatural tension, and at these first words of affection and 
sympathy the impulse to lay her head upon her Aunt Catherine’s 
breast and relieve her overburdened heart by giving way to tears, 
was almost irresistible. 

She struggled bravely, however, against the weakness and con- 
quered it, although she was unable to make any reply to Mrs. 
Arlingford’s words. And when that gentle lady essayed to raise 
her face, Gertrude resisted. She could not meet the gaze of Ar- 
thur’s mother at that moment. But afterward, when she took her 
departure and kissed her aunt affectionately, she forced herself 
to meet the tender, searching, soft brown eyes that looked at her 
so wistfully, meet them calmly and without flinching, so that Mrs. 
Arlingford turned away with a sigh, thinking “ She does not care,” 
and wondering with unreasoning bitterness, “ if, after all, that 
man's money had won her dear girl.’' 

Kate meantime had stolen from the room. 

Gertrude left the house understanding their thoughts quite well. 
She had accomplished her object, but her success made her mis- 
erable. She was glad that the major had not been there. She 
doubted if she could have submitted to the contemplation of his 
calm, gray eyes. He was different from her Aunt Catherine or 
Kate — he would have read her secret through it all. Crouching 
upon the floor half an hour later, hiding her hot, tear-stained face 
from the light, Gertrude’s slight figure, a dishevel of velvet, funs 
and golden hair, presented in its utter abandonment a pitiful pic- 
ture. Outraged pride had triumphed over love. Reason, doubts, 
arguments, pleading, all were of no avail. Even when the 
memory of that kiss imprinted upon her hand by her future hus- 
band, Mr. Yates, sent a hot, indignant flush all over her body and 
made her shrink within herself and forced her dimly to realize 
what the coming sacrifice might mean, she set her teeth together 
and would not yield an inch. She had vanquished her love, but 
alas for the victor ! 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


Early morning on the Bay of Naples, some three months after 
the events narrated in the last chapter, that cool quiet hour of 
early morning before the rising of the sun, that most delightful 
fairy hour to be upon the water, when the gray outlines of the 
houses on the shore are just visible, suggesting by the obscurity of 
their surroundings all manner of romance , when every dim tower 
and blank wall is invested with a mysterious interest of its own- 
and each common boat that rises and falls with the movement 
of the waves has vague possibilities of adventure. And as the 
sun’s first level rays tip with gold the picturesque white towns 
asleep upon the shore, gradually revealing the secrets of the dark- 
ness, betraying the little blue-eyed wanton wavelets whispering 
and laughing on the sandy beach and glinting over the quiet 
waters till they awaken with their touch the distant, rugged shores 
of Ischia and the hazy coast of Capri, life seems well worth the 
living for just this one hour on the Bay of Naples. It was on such 
a morning in the early part of April that the United States 
steamer “ Comet ’’ lay at anchor in the harbor. The crew had been 
roused out, the hammocks were lashed and stowed in the nettings, 
while the pumps were sending a liberal supply of water over the 
decks preparatory to that arduous operation known as “ holy-ston- 
ing down.” 

Midshipman Arlingford, who had just come off watch, was 
seated, barefooted, on the bitts forward, sipping his early morning 
cup of coffee. His friend Dudley, in more conventional costume, 
stood near him waiting for the market boat to take him ashore, his 
attention divided between the water that was being splashed in 
dangerous proximity to his polished shoes, and a narrative that he 
was giving Arthur of the incidents of a hop he had attended the 
night before on board of a British man-of-war lying near 
them. 

“I tell you what,” concluded Dudley, enthusiastically, “ they are 
as nice a lot of fellows as I ever met. From the admiral down 

127 


128 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


they could not do too much for us, and the way they set up the 
‘ fizz ’ as they call it, was enough to make your head swim.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” said Arthur, “ judging by the way you came 
over the side. It was the swipiest crowd I ever saw.” 

“ Wasn’t it ! ” said Curley, his eyes dancing with fun as he 
looked up at Arthur. “ By George, you would have thought the 
first luff was my dearest friend when we parted last night ! A 
long-lost brother was nothing to it. I don’t believe he will be so 
affectionate this morning.” 

“ No,” said Arthur, dryly, “ I don’t think he will. And what is 
more, you will be hearing from him presently, if you don’t bear a 
hand and get out of this.” 

And sure enough at this moment the voice of the gentleman in 
question was audible from the upper deck calling out gruffly, “ Has 
that market boat left yet ? ” And as some one replied, “ No, sir,” 
“Then why the devil hasn’t it? Call away the dingy, Mr. 
Piper ! ” 

“Just so,” said Curley, softly, as the boatswain’s pipe rang out; 
“ I thought his hat wouldn’t fit him this morning.” 

“ Don’t forget my tobacco,” said Arthur. 

“ All right,” replied Curley, imperturbably consulting his mem- 
orandum. “ There was something Miller wanted, and I can’t for 
the life of me remember what it was. ‘ Go to the consul for the 
mail.’ ‘Cologne,’ ‘butter,’ ‘vegetables, meat.’ Oh, here it is; 

‘ Call on Miller’s girl,’ and ‘ sticking plaster.’ ” 

“Put my tobacco down,” said Arthur, “or you will forget 
it.” 

“It is down,” said Curley, “ next to Miller’s things.” 

But at this juncture the voice of the first lieutenant was again 
heard overhead in impatient tones, “ Messenger boy, give my com- 
pliments to Mr. Dudley, and say I don’t desire that boat to be 
kept waiting any longer.” 

“ Oh, don’t trouble yourself,” said Curley, under his breath, and 
then shouting for the steward he went up the ladder with an 
appearance of great haste. 

By eight bells the decks were dry and immaculate, the brass 
work glittering, the rigging flemished down, and the crew shifted 
into white, while the jaunty appearance of the ship, with the stars 
and stripes lazily floating aloft, might well make the heart of an 
exiled American thrill with glad pride. By nine o’clock the dingy 
had returned, and that great event in a sailor’s life, the arrival of a 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


129 


home mail, threw all hands into excitement. The “ Comet ” had 
dropped her anchor only the day before, after a short cruise, and 
the ship’s mail for the last two or three weeks had been forwarded 
to the consul at Naples, so that it was with unusual eagerness that 
the officers aft, as well as the sailor men forward, waited to see 
what luck would bring them in the shape of letters. After the 
distribution some are made happy, and some are sad, while those 
who have received no news at all console themselves with the 
thought that no news is good news, and turn to the Army and 
Navy papers to see who is dead or who has resigned, and the con- 
sequent changes and promotions. 

Arthur's mail was a large one, as it generally was, and as he 
looked it over a very fair insight into the degree of interest 
inspired by the writers in his mind, could have been obtained from 
the sorting the letters received. The first that he opened was in 
Gertrude’s handwriting. 

“ I have received your letter,’” she said, after a few unimportant 
words, “ and I thank you for your congratulations on my engage- 
ment, although I do not altogether understand why you speak of 
it as you do. I had nothing to ‘confide’ until Mr. Yates did me 
the honor to ask me to marry him, and then I told your mother, 
knowing that she would tell you. As for my engagement ‘ sepa- 
rating us forever,’ I have always considered you as my brother, 
and I do not think that brothers abandon their sisters entirely on 
such occasions, do they ? Then again I must protest against your 
reviving that old fancy of yours about my being so much better 
than other women. I am not. I think perhaps you have seen 
very few women, and so have not had experience enough to under- 
stand those you have met. I should be glad to think that your 
regard for me had helped you, even though ever so little, in doing 
right through the past years, during which we were such good 
friends, but I take little credit to myself. Your own sense of 
honor and honesty Used to be your guide, not I. Under the cir- 
cumstances, therefore, I cannot see why you should say that my 
marriage will be to you like the loss of your religion. Is not all 
that a little strained? To use your own simile, which is not a 
very good one, if the cable which holds you to a belief in better 
things, and to the ambition to lead a life of which not only I, but 
all your friends might be proud, is made of no better material than 
a sentimental regard for my opinion, it would soon break^ of its 
own weight, and my marriage can have little to do with it. At 
the same time I will confess that portions of your letter made me 
unhappy, because, for your dear mother’s sake as well as your 
own, I don’t like to hear you talk in such a reckless way. How- 
ever, I have been comforted by the recollection of what you once 
said of your father, that although he had no religious faith, he was 

9 


130 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


too much of a gentleman to do wrong. My marriage ought to 
make no difference in our friendship, and as far as I am concerned 
it will not. I hope you will be home in time for the ceremony, 
and so, with kind regards to Mr. Dudley, I remain, as always, 

“ Your sincere friend, 

“ Gertrude Alden.” 

Arthur sat for a long time deep in thought after reading this 
letter. Then rousing himself he placed the note in his breast 
pocket, and turning over the envelopes at his side, selected one 
bearing the Paris postmark. This epistle was a long one from 
Mrs. Merrin, devoted mainly to a description of the delights of 
Paris, where she had been visiting for the past month. 


“ The opera, last night,” she said, “ full dress, and then a ball. 
The night before, a salon, very stupid, and afterward a masquer- 
ade, which was just gorgeous. I never had such a time in my 
life before. I went as Cleopatra, and I could not begin to tell you 
all the nice things that were said to me. In fact I get more flat- 
tery here than I know what to do with, and the gentlemen are all 
so attentive ; too attentive, in fact. Of course I am very discreet. 
Just as a certain gentleman was in Naples. No, not quite as dis- 
creet as that, either, because your discretion is something I can 
never hope to equal. Perhaps you are right, though 1 never 
believed that you were quite sincere in adopting that frigid 
demeanor purely on my account. When a man cares for a 
woman he is not so fearful of what people will say ; it is only 
when he is indifferent that he becomes so excessively careful of 
her reputation. Under the circumstances, having more attention 
than I know what to do with, I don’t know why I should bother to 
write to you, or why I should want you to come to Paris, except — 
well, except that I do. I have a curiosity to see whether you will 
be as unhappy here as you were at Naples. I don’t know whether 
it is necessary to remind you of the fact that when you were in 
Newport last year you promised to meet me in Paris. So write 
and let me know when you will come. Mr. Merrin was with me 
about a week ago, but his business has called him back to Lon- 
don, and it is just possible that he will have to go to New York, in 
which case I shall remain here until he returns for me in the sum- 
mer. I could not possibly think of crossing the Atlantic at this 
time of the year. Don’t forget to write and let me know when 
you can come. Don’t leave it too late.” 

When Arthur had finished this second letter he paused again in 
deep thought, meantime slowly tearing the paper into small bits 
which he mechanically scattered through the open port, watching 
them flutter into the water. “ Well,” he said, finally, to himself 


A BLIND BARGAIN. I3I 

“ why not ? If Gertrude has slipped my cable, why should I not 
take a cruise to Paris ? ” 

That there was danger in the errand ; that, despite the light and 
apparently careless nature of the invitation, it bore a significance ; 
that, while it might prove only a trivial matter of a few weeks’ 
pleasure, it might prove the reverse ; he knew quite well. But the 
mood to do something reckless, something wicked, something 
irrevocable, was strong upon him. All through the long, lazy 
spring day, when there were few active duties aboard ship to 
occupy his mind, he debated the question, laying great stress upon 
the promise of which Mrs. Merrin had reminded him. 

In accordance with the intention she had expressed in Newport 
the previous summer, this lady had arrived in Europe in the fall. 
Leaving her husband engrossed in business in London, she had 
joined some friends who were on their way to Rome. Stopping 
at Naples, the presence of several war vessels in the harbor 
offered an attraction sufficient to detain her party several weeks. 
Dances and receptions aboard ship and ashore followed in rapid 
succession, varied with parties and excursions of all sorts. But 
during this period of gayety Mrs. Merrin’s expectations in regard 
to Arthur’s attentions were by no means fulfilled. He chose to 
play the recluse, and provoked good-natured accusations of hav- 
ing left a sweetheart at home by the readiness with which he 
stood watch for any officer who wanted to go ashore. While he 
did not conspicuously avoid Mrs. Merrin, he certainly did not seek 
her presence. All of which, under the circumstances, was disap- 
pointing and mortifying to that lady. In refusing to attribute his 
discreet conduct to regard for her reputation she knew perfectly 
well, if he did not, that it was the memory of Gertrude Alden 
which kept him from other women’s society, and nothing else. 
And the thought that the unrecognized power of this girl, thou- 
sands of miles away, was stronger than her physical presence, was 
not pleasant to a woman of Mrs. Merrin’s character. So she 
incurred the trouble and danger of a desperate expedient to 
remove this counter attraction before again inviting Arthur to 
meet her. How well she succeeded, the announcement of 
(Gertrude’s engagement showed. 

And yet Arthur, as he debated whether or not he should go to 
Paris to meet Mrs. Merrin, still had that letter of Gertrudes in 
his pocket ; he had not destroyed it as he had the other, and 
unsatisfactory though the reading was, he had read it several 


132 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


times during the day. At nightfall he was still undecided. Tired 
of the interminable arguments of his conflicting feelings, he lit his 
pipe and leaning upon the bulwarks dismissed the matter from his 
mind, intending to settle it in the morning. Only as he lit his 
pipe, the one his father had given him, he remembered the major’s 
humorous suggestion that he be not ashamed to go to it for 
advice, and he smiled at the wisdom of the conceit, for there was 
no doubting the nature of the advice given by this old veteran 
friend. And Arthur said to himself, “ Poor father.” 


“ What are you looking at ? ” said Dudley, breaking in upon 
Arthur’s meditations, and peering curiously over the side into the 
water at which Arthur had been gazing so intently. 

“ Nothing,” replied Arthur, straightening himself up and knock- 
ing the ashes out of his pipe. “ I was thinking.” 

“ No,” exclaimed Curley, incredulously. “ What about ? Or 
isn’t it any of my business ? ” 

“ No,” said Arthur, promptly, “ it is not.” 

Oh ! ” said Curley, “ all right. I came here to do you a kind- 
ness, but if that is the way you are going to treat me — well, never 
mind.” 

“ What kindness ! ” said Arthur, sceptically. 

“Why, to let you go ashore with me to-night.” 

“ Not much,” said Arthur. 

“ Oh, yes, come ahead,” urged Curley, “ I’ll take you to see 
my girl ; she is ever so pretty.” 

“ Pretty ugly,” retorted Arthur. 

“ No, but really, this is a new one,” protested Curley, laughing. 
“ I say, I think you might go. Won’t you ? ” 

“ What the deuce do you want to go ashore for, at any rate ? ” 
said Arthur. 

“ I don’t want to go,” replied Curley, “ that is just it ; I have 
been ordered to take the mail.” 

“To take the mail !” repeated Arthur. “To-night? What is 
that for ? ” 

“ Don’t you know ? ” said Curley. “ We have got orders to go 
to sea. The old man came off about an hour ago, and told Jack- 
son to be ready to get under way at daylight. It is an infernal 
shame. We only got the anchor down the day before yesterday. 
I don’t see how the girls will stand it.” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


133 

“ It is a pity about the girls,” said Arthur. “ Well,” he added, 
with a long breath, “ that settles it, anyway.” 

“ Settles what ? ” said Curley. 

“ Why, I did not know whether to write my letters to-night or 
to-morrow,” said Arthur. 

“ Well, you had better get at it right away, and bear a hand 
about it, too,” said Curley. “ The boat leaves at six bells.” 

Descending into the steerage, Arthur wrote a few hurried notes, 
and one was to Mrs. Merrin, explaining his inability to obtain a 
furlough at the present time on account of the ship’s unexpected 
departure, that their destination was unknown, but that he would 
write again from the first port at which they stopped. This done, 
he was surprised at the feeling of relief which ensued. While 
every one else was growling at being deprived of their run on 
shore, Arthur alone was perfectly satisfied, even light-hearted, at 
the prospect. Once more he filled and lit the major’s little black 
pipe, and as he did so he gave a little friendly laugh which no one 
but the pipe and he understood. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


The next morning the “ Comet,” under all plain sail, majesti- 
cally breasted the dark blue waters of the Mediterranean, but 
whither bound no one but “ the old man,” the generic name for 
the captain, could tell. Once fairly at sea, life aboard ship settled 
down into the old, monotonous routine of duty. After leaving the 
Mediterranean and entering the Atlantic, a northerly course was 
shaped and fair days became the exception and dirty weather the 
rule. The regular hours ticked off by the stroke of the bell and 
the boatswain’s pipe were varied only by an occasional call of “All 
hands shorten sail ! ” as some sudden storm bore down upon the 
ship. Unheralded squalls were frequent enough to make the 
duties of the officer of the deck no sinecure ; and the orders to 
“ Lay aft to the braces ! ” “ Man the main clew garnets and 

bunt-lines ! ” or “ Stand by the tops’l halyards ! ” were constantly 
on his tongue day and night. Sloppy decks, stiff, wet gear, and 
shiny, damp, oil-skin clothing, did not tend to enlivenment, and 
everything and everybody was moist, gloomy and disagreeable. 
When lights were set at nightfall, every one who was at liberty to 
do so turned in, one man because he had the mid-watch, and 
another because he had just come off watch. Darkness found all 
who were lucky enough to be off duty, asleep in their berths, 
dreaming, maybe, of dark Italian eyes, and low, soft voices, 
enchanting waltzes or jolly larks on shore; dreams constantly 
broken by the voice of the messenger boy as, lantern in hand, 
he aroused some unfortunate with a flash of his light and 
“ Eight bells, sir! Your watch 1 ” And as the awakened man 
grumblingly gropes his way on deck others who have been 
aroused by the call, sink back to slumber with a delightful 
sense of relief that it is not yet their fate to exchange a warm 
bed for the cold, wet, windy deck. The exquisite pleasure of 
having four more big hours to sleep! The sense of richness 
which such a possession bestows qan scarcely be appreciated 
by the thankless, spendthrift landsman who sleeps his eight or 

134 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 1 35 

nine hours at a stretch without so much as a thought of the 
blessing he enjoys. 

It was the close of a gloomy day. Four bells in the dog watch 
had just been struck when Arthur, dripping with moisture, came 
down into the steerage from off watch and called loudly for the 
steerage boy to bring him his supper. Going into his berth he 
divested himself of his wet waterproofs and then sat down to his 
solitary meal. Dudley, throwing aside the book he had .been 
attempting to read by the dim light of a swinging lamp, said, 
“ Hello, Arley ! How are we heading ? ” 

“ Nor’ east by nor’,” replied that gentleman, not in the best of 
humor. 

“ Whereabouts are we, do you know } ” 

“ No, nor nobody else, I fancy,” said Arthur. “ Off Ushant 
somewhere, dark as pitch, and a fog that is more like rain than 
anything else.” 

“ A pleasant evening ! ” said Curley, cheerfully. 

“ You’ll think so,” retorted Arthur, when you stand your 
watch.” 

“ You wouldn’t stand it for me, would you said Curley. 

“ No,” said Arthur. 

“ I thought you wouldn’t,” said Curley, with an air of convic- 
tion. “ I don’t see why the old man don’t steam out of this,” he 
continued ; “ all our fresh meat and vegetables are gone.” 

“ I shoul(^ judge so from this supper,” said Arthur, leaning 
back in his chair. “ Did they find out what was the matter with 
the drinking water } ” 

“ Yes,” replied Curley. “ They also found out what became of 
that monkey the men brought aboard at Naples, and that dis- 
appeared so mysteriously two or three days ago. Yes,” he 
added, in answer to the look that Arthur gave him. “ Poor little 
fellow ! He was a very nice monkey.” 

The silence that naturally followed this information was broken 
presently by a hoarse bellowing, first on one side and then on the 
other, as the ship rolled. 

“ There go those infernal fog-horns,” exclaimed Curley. 
“ What is going on on deck.^ ”’ he added, as another soaked indi- 
vidual made his way into the steerage. 

“ They are getting ready for a cast of the lead,” was the 
reply. “ One of the lookouts hailed a light, and they can’t make 
out what it is. 1 think old Jones is looking for the Ushant 


136 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


light, but it is so fogg^ you can’t see the foremast from the quarter- 
deck.” 

“Jones has been in a regular stew to get an observation,” said 
another of the party. “ He hasn’t had one for two days, and it is 
my belief he does not know exactly where we are.” 

“Don’t you fool yourself,” said Curley. “Jonesy will take a 
grain of sand from the deep sea lead and a couple of logarithms, 
and get as good latitude and longitude as you could from the 
sun.” 

“ It sounds as though they were going to get up steam,” said 
Arthur, rising from the table. 

“Clever scheme,” said Curley. “Hold on a minute, and I will 
go on deck with you,” he continued, as Arthur put on his rubber 
coat. 

The wind had died away and the ship under top-gallant sails, 
was laboring in the heavy sea, every now and then throwing the 
sails back against the masts with a jerk and a report like a battery 
in action. The water was shrouded in a dense, cold fog, from 
which every now and then as the ship careened, a monster of a 
billow reared its huge black head in startling proximity to the 
deck. As Arthur, followed by Dudley, reached the deck, a light 
puff of air rent the mist, and one of the lookouts, taking advan- 
tage of the opportunity, startled every one by crying, “ Light, ho ! ” 

“ Where away ? ” came the quick response from the officer of 
the deck. « 

“ Dead ahead, sir ! ” was the reply. 

“ Bear a hand with that lead, for’ard ! ” sang out the officer of 
the deck, and in a few moments the warning cry, as the lead was 
cast, echoed up in the fog monotonously, “ Watch, oh, watch ! ” 
repeated with an eerie effect as each man dropped the line, chant- 
ing, “ Watch, oh, watch ! ” 

The lead marked sixty fathoms, and no bottom. The captain 
gave some direction to the officer of the deck and then went for- 
ward. Presently word was passed for the signal quartermaster, 
and in a few moments more a sudden blaze on the forecastle, as a 
blue light was touched off, rendered the scene as phantasmal as a 
nightmare. The pallid glare sifting through the fog, showed the 
figures of the men gathered on the forecastle, wavering and misty 
with faces like the dead ; ghostly sailors on a ghostly ship ; while 
the moaning of the fog-horns, rising to an unearthly scream as the 
vessel rolled with greater force, and the muffied strokes of the bell 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


137 


ringing out at intervals, but deadened by the mist, made a fitting 
accompaniment to the weird, spectral scene. Then suddenly ship 
and men vanished as the light went out and dropped with a hiss 
on the wet deck. 

Presently another puff of air, sufficient to again open the curtain 
of fog, was felt ; then another, and a fair breeze came out on the 
quarter, gradually dispersing the mist. Instantly there followed 
the hail of the light dead ahead. The captain, standing on the 
forecastle, saw it at the same moment, but his keen eye detected 
what the lookouts had not seen, and short and sharp came the 
order : “ Down with your helm ! ” and “ Down with your helm / ” 
was passed back along the deck to the quartermaster at the conn, 
who, answering “ Helm’s hard down, sir ! ” sheered the ship just 
in tim^e. For almost directly under the bow lay a fishing smack, 
no light set, and every one aboard of her apparently asleep. 
Again came the order: Port I Steady! Let her go off!" and 
another boat was lightly passed. 

“We are right into a shoal of them,” said the captain to the 
first lieutenant, standing near him. “I wonder how many of 
these fellows are run down in a year. Port ! port ! steady ! ” 
And so the ship was gradually manoeuvred through the little 
fleet, which was soon left far astern, while the wind again died 
away and gave signs of shifting. 

Arthur had gone aft on the quarter-deck and was standing 
leaning on the rail, thinking he had seen a flash light off to lee- 
ward, while Dudley, about to go below, paused for a moment in 
the lee gangway with the same idea. Meanwhile the captain had 
directed the officer of the deck to take in the mainsail, which was 
hanging loosely from the yard. The orders were given and the 
sheet cast off the cleat as the clew garnets were being led out. 
But at the moment a heavy flaw of wind from the quarter bellied 
out the immense sail. For an instant it was held by a snarl of the 
sheet, then with a mighty rush it flew out, and swinging its great 
blocks through the air like the lash of a whip, they struck Dudley, 
and despite his convulsive clutches at all within his reach, knocked 
him overboard! He was standing there one moment, and the 
next, without a cry, he was gone ! 

Instantly there was the shout of “ Man overboard! ” sending a 
thrill of vague terror to the heart of every one who heard, and 
then followed a blind rush over the wet decks through the dark- 
ness, as suddenly checked by the quick orders that rang out loud 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


138 

and clear from the quarter-deck : “ Silence fore and aft / Let go 
the life buoys! Lay aft the life-boat's crew! Every man to 
HIS STATION ! " 

Scarcely a minute of time had elapsed, though it seemed an age, 
but in that minute, excepting on the quarter, silence and order 
usurped the place of confusion. Excepting on the quarter, where 
the men were being dashed aside by a powerful arm, and a large, 
dark figure sprang up and stood for a moment on the rail ! Only 
for a moment, for some one grasped his collar and threw him in 
and down on the deck. It> was the captain, and he said, “ Pick 
yourself up, my fine fellow ! One man has gone after him 
already, and if they two can’t save themselves, I’ll not lose more !” 

The life-boat’s crew meantime had sprung into their boat, the 
boat was lowered and detached, and dropping into the gulf of 
darkness and gleaming white spray, was almost instantly lost to 
sight. The yards were swung around, and the ship hove to on 
the starboard tack, the wind veering to the southward and corning 
out in fitful gusts. Men were stationed in the rigging to keep the 
buoys in sight, and there was nothing more to be done. Silence 
reigned on the ship. A hundred eager eyes peered across the 
backs of the huge black billows, constantly startled and deceived 
by what looked like a white face or tossing hand, but which 
proved only gleaming foam. The ship seemed all staring eyes, 
and the men grew nervous in their helplessness, in their inability 
to do anything more to save the lad drowning out there in the 
night. 

And now a murmur, a whisper, passed through the ship, and it 
became known that two men were overboard. Some one had 
jumped after Mr. Dudley, the captain had said so. Who was it 1 
Who is it ? But no one knew, and certain old sailors shook their 
heads, and said, “ Such a night as this, and in the Bay of Biscay ! 
There’s no use looking for them ! ” And others cursed them for 
croakers, and again strained their eyes over the waters. The cap- 
tain walking up and down the quarter-deck with his hands behind 
him stopped and said to the officer of the deck standing on the 
bridge, “ Mr. Dunn ! ” 

“ Sir” replied the officer of the deck. 

“ Do you know who it was that went after Mr. Dudley } ” 

“ No, sir,” replied the officer of the deck. 

But the paymaster stepped forward, and said, “ It was Mr. 
Arlingford, sir. He was standing by the quarter. He had just 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


139 


spoken to me, telling me that he thought he had seen a light to 
leeward. When the cry was passed I saw him put his hand on 
the handle of the buoy and flash the port fire, then as soon as he 
had dropped the buoy he sprang on the rail and was overboard 
almost instantly.” 

And again the whisper and the murmur passed through the 
ship, and all the men knew who it was that had gone after Mr. 
Dudley. 

“Too bad! Too bad!” muttered the captain to himself. 
“ Mizzen rigging, there ! ” 

“ Sir ! ” 

“ Do you see the buoy lights ? ” 

“ I only see one, sir. That’s the only one I have seen at all.” 

“ Who let go that starboard buoy } ” cried the captain, turning 
to the men on deck. 

There was no answer. 

“ Oh ! ” he exclaimed, in disgust, “ you are a damned lubber, 
whoever you are. The man that’s gone is worth a dozen of you.” 

“ On deck, there !” came from the fore-top. 

“Well,” interrupted the captain sharply. 

“ I’ve lost the buoy, sir.” 

“ Fore-t’gallant cross-trees, there ! do you see that buoy? ” 

“ No, sir. I’ve just lost it.” 

Silence is on the ship again, making audible the dashing of the 
waters and the first premonitory creakings and rumblings of the 
machinery. Then all hands are called to furl sail, and presently 
the “Comet ” is steaming up against the wind in the direction the 
buoys are supposed to be. A conviction that they must be near 
the spot now — past it, some say — increases the uneasiness. No 
signs of the life-boat have been seen; and there are many who 
shake their heads gloomily, and despondency is transmitted from 
one to another until all are growing hopeless. 

Suddenly “ Light, ho 1 ” came from the foretop-mast cross-trees, 
and at the same moment a blue light is seen burning low on the 
water on the port bow. It is the life-boat’s signal. The course 
of the ship is altered, and presently the officer of the deck hails and 
is answered. A line is taken out forward and thrown to the toss- 
ing boat, while the men have to be ordered back, they crowd so 
eagerly to the side. 

In a few moments Arthur appears on deck. 

The captain, stopping in his walk, stands with his hands behind 


140 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


him, waiting, as Arthur, muffled up in a pea-jacket, but with his 
teeth chattering, reports to him. 

“Very well, Mr. Arlingford,” he says. “Is Mr. Dudley with 
you ? ” 

All hands strain to catch the reply. 

“ Yes, sir ; but he was badly hurt, and can’t move.” 

And it passes through the ship : — 

“ Saved ! Yes, both of them ! ” 

And such a cheer for Arthur resounds up into the night as 
must have awakened even the French fishermen aboard the 
smacks. 

While poor Curley is being carried down to his berth, the cap- 
tain turns to Arthur, and says, — 

“ Go below, and turn in, sir. I will have something to say to 
you in the morning.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


The light in the steerage was burning dimly, and all was still, 
when Arthur, awakening suddenly from a light sleep, started up 
from his bunk with a cry, and stared wildly around. The throb- 
bing of the engines, the booming of the waves outside, the creak- 
ing of the cordage, and complaining of the timbers, and the loud 
breathing of some tired sleeper near at hand, familiar sounds that 
blended together seemed to make silence, soothed him, and 
partially restored his self-possession. He had been dreaming, 
dreaming that he had fallen overboard into the wild waste of 
black waters, while the ship sailed away, and left him ; and that 
he was drowning, and yet could not drown ; and grisly monsters 
of the deep came and mocked at him and threatened him until 
finally a ghastly thing, a dead body with Curley’s pretty face all 
wet and disfigured, threw its arms about his neck, and was pulling 
him down, strangling him, when — he awoke. It was a horrible 
nightmare ! And Arthur lifted his trembling hand to wipe away 
the perspiration that was trickling from his forehead. But a sharp 
pain pierced his arm, and forced an exclamation from his lips; 
and, looking down, he found his arm tightly bandaged, from elbow 
to wrist. The sight and the pain dispelled the vapors of sleep, 
and brought him to himself. 

It was not altogether a dream, then, after all. And, sinking 
back on his pillow, he stared at the swinging lamps while his 
disturbed imagination, which had re-enacted the scenes of the 
night with fantastical additions in his sleep, immediately busied 
itself with a repetition of the reality. Once more he stood poised 
on the rail, gazing down into the yawning, black gulf beneath; 
again he felt the sickening hesitancy and recoil from what seemed 
certain death ; and then once more he made the fearful leap. 
Into the jaws of death, down, down, down, through solid black 
water, till his eyeballs started from their sockets, and his head 
seemed bursting, and he went mad with the ghastly horror of 

141 


142 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


going down and down, while with arms and legs and teeth and 
nails he fought the yielding, murderous water. 

Back to the surface at last. Tossed hither and thither, pounded 
and bruised, and at times buried by the great descending moun- 
tains of water. At the moment all thought of saving the man — he 
did not know then who it was — was lost in the desperation of his 
own condition. With a thrill of terror he realized his helplessness 
in this black waste of waters, with death staring him in the face. 
Surely it could not be ! It was a dream ! It was not possible 
that he, Arthur Arlingford, was out there alone in the night, 
drowning like a rat ! That others should die, should even die 
violent deaths, was commonplace, was part of every-day life ; but 
that he should go out, be extinguished, and the world go on the 
same as ever, — no, it was not possible. And, as he arose on the 
back of a mighty billow, he stared wildly around for the ship. It 
was no longer m sight, it had left him ; left him to die out there 
alone ! And he shrieked for help, calling them cowards, and 
cursing them for their desertion. And a panic seized upon him, 
and he swam with desperate strength, and fought with reckless 
fury the descending masses of water, until, exhausted and sick 
with the sea brine he had swallowed, his strength failed him, and 
once more he sank beneath the surface. 

The shock restored his reason ; and, with a last effort, he arose 
to the air, and, turning upon his back, with all his skill he floated 
on the waves for a few moments, until he had gained his breath. 
Then for the first time from the top of a wave he saw the blue 
light of the buoy he had let fall. Oh, what joy there was in the 
sight of that spark ! — that bit of man’s handiwork which linked 
him to humanity. Instantly it restored his self-possession, his 
nerve, recalling as it did the reason why he had sprung overboard 
into this awful blackness. He had risked his life to save another, 
and he would save him ! All thought of himself was instantly 
lost in that recollection and determination ; and now with perfect 
calmness he exerted his remaining strength to reach the buoy. If 
the man was alive, he would be somewhere near it. Suddenly 
something rubbed his leg, — a thing that ^ sent a thrill of horror 
through him, and curdled his blood as he paused to feel the next 
move of this unknown monster of the deep. Then swift as light- 
ning the thought flashed into his mind, — “ The man ! ” 

Instantly he let himself sink, and, striking out desperately under 
the water, his hand came in contact with a human head. His 


A BLIxND BARGAIN. 


143 


heart then gave a great leap, and, as he clutched the mass of hair, 
he involuntarily uttered a silent prayer to God, the Christian’s 
God whom he had renounced, to any god, to any power that 
might exist, to help him in this extremity, as he was a god, not to 
judge him now in his great need, but only to help him save this 
life. 

Once more on the surface, with the man’s head above water, 
and Arthur gave thanks in his heart. The man was quiet, prob- 
ably insensible ; and, floating on his back, Arthur held the helpless 
head on his breast, waiting for a chance to grasp the buoy. It 
was near him now, with its long iron neck crowned with the fuse- 
pan in which the fuse was still burning. But it was no longer a 
life-buoy, it was a living thing. Quietly floating near him 
one moment, the next it made an eager dash toward him, as 
though to strike at him ; and then, as he would turn to seize it, it 
flung itself back far out of his reach. It was a devil, a devil gone 
mad ; bent upon stealing up to him only to beat out his brains ! 
Eluding his failing grasp, it kept up its wild devil’s dance about 
him, till his mind whirled and his senses failed, and the air and the 
water was filled with fire-crowned buoys pecking like vultures at 
his head. 

Then had come another great wave, and the buoy was dashed 
against him with terrific force. He thought his arm was broken, 
but, with the convulsive strength of a drowning man, he fought 
with the iron monster, fought as fiercely, as furiously, as if it had 
been in truth a living thing. Gashed and bruised, he clung to it in 
its efforts to throw him off, until he had fixed his feet on the lower 
frame, and his arms holding the rescued man were wrapped around 
the standard. Gasping faintly for breath, he rested for a moment, 
and then, shifting his burden for a better hold, his eyes fell on the 
white face upturned to his. By the pale, flickering light he recog- 
nized Dudley ! Curley, and dead ! And Arthur wondered if he 
had indeed lost his mind, if he had gone crazy in this awful night. 

Then followed a strain upon his physical strength that none but 
an athlete, an athlete imbued with desperate determination, could 
have endured. Was he holding a corpse } Even so he would save 
the poor body while life was left in him to hold it ! Fiercely he 
swore that the waters should not have it without having him too ! 
Oh, the dread waiting for rescue ! with his sinews cracking and 
straining as he was blindly dashed here and there, now under water, 
now on top of a billow, where he feebly tried to cry out in his 


144 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


despair to quicken the relief that he knew must finally come! 
The horrible waiting among those great, descending walls of 
shining black water, with its alternate hope and despair I The 
sinking of his heart as he fell in the trough of a wave where he 
could not be seen ! The sickening fear that the boat had gone in 
the wrong direction, had given them up ; the dread lest the fuse 
was spent each time it flickered in the spray ! At last his fingers 
are slipping ! His arms are relaxing ! He can hold on no longer ! 
God ! Would the boat never reach them ! A mist came before 
his eyes, a ringing in his ears, and he felt that the end had come ! 
Then suddenly there was a shout and a flash of light, and Arthur 
knew no more. 

The perspiration was starting out all over Arthur’s body, his 
limbs trembled beneath the blankets, and his breath came fast, so 
vividly had his imagination re-enacted the scenes, and no sooner 
had he finished it than his excited fancy would fain have com- 
menced at the beginning, and gone over it all again, so that he 
had to force his thoughts away from the subject by taking notice 
of the trivial articles about him. As he grew calm, however, the 
thought that he had done well, had acted as he would have had 
himself act, had saved the life of the boy he loved, and that the 
stress and dread was all passed, and only the satisfaction left, 
filled him gradually with a feeling of intense rest and gladness. 
He hugged himself in the comfort and safety of his warm berth 
as he listened luxuriously to the sound of humanity and its daily 
life, to the throbbing of the engines, the creaking of the timbers, 
the deep breathing of the sleeper, and the voices of the lookouts 
as at the end of the hour they passed the hail, and “ All’s well.” 

“ Arthur ! ” 

“ What is it, Curley ? ” 

“ Are you asleep ? ” 

“ No : do you want anything ? How do you feel ? ” 

“ Oh, I am all right,” replied Dudley feebly. 

After a moment’s silence, he laughed and added, — “ I say, 
wasn’t the water awfully cold ! ” 

“ The young one is out of his head,” thought Arthur. 

“ Curley,” he said aloud, “ shall I call the doctor ? He said 
he wanted to be called when you woke up.” 

“ No,” said Dudley, “ I don’t want the medico. Come here a 
minute, can you } ” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


^45 

Arthur arose somewhat stiffly, and went and sat on the edge of 
Dudley’s berth. The poor boy seemed to have been badly in- 
jured. He was unable to raise his head, which was swathed in 
bandages ; and as he turned his white face toward him, Arthur 
was greatly moved at the pathetic change which the night’s work 
had wrought. 

“ Here,” said Dudley, “ draw this blanket over you, you will 
take cold. Why, what’s the matter with you ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing much,” said Arthur. “ I got bruised a little with 
the buoy.” 

“ I did not know you had been hurt. I am awfully sorry,” and 
his voice faltered. “ I suppose it is mean of me to make you turn 
out ; but I could not stand it any longer. I have been lying awake 
for a long time, listening for you to move. I can’t get up, or I 
would have gone to you.” 

“ What is the matter ? ” said Arthur. “ Are you feeling 
worse ? ” 

“ No, I am all right ; but I wanted to tell you. — Don’t you know, 
the first thing I thought of after I came up, was you ? I knew 
that you would come after me.” Dudley, in his eagerness, tried 
to raise himself to look at Arthur as he said this, but sank back 
with a groan. 

“ Oh, don’t, Curley ! Don’t try to move ! ” implored Arthur. 
“ Don’t let us talk about it now. Wait till to-morrow.” 

“ No, no,” replied Dudley. “ I must tell you now. I would 
have jumped after if had gone overboard,” he continued, 
eagerly. “ Though I can’t swim, I would have done it just the 
same ! You know that, don’t you ? ” 

“ Of course I do,” said Arthur, “ either one of us would do as 
much or more for the other ; so this isn’t worth talking about.” 

All of Dudley’s assumed carelessness was gone. Weak and 
nervous, he made no attempt to restrain the tears that followed 
each other down his pale, bruised face. Holding Arthur’s hand 
against his cheek with a woman’s caress, he said, — “don’t go 
away. Stay here with me a minute. The cursed water soaked all 
the back-bone out of me. Do you know if it had not been for 
that buoy I never should have got back ? I got it as soon as I 
came to the surface. Whoever dropped it had a level head, and 
I held on to it like grim death. But I lost my grip after a while. 
That must have been when you found me. God ! But it was 
awful ! ” 


10 


146 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ Don’t think about it, Curley,” interrupted Arthur. “ Try and 
go to sleep.” 

“ Oh, I can’t go to sleep, my head hurts me so. No, I don’t 
want the medico I Stay here with me just a little while.” 

“ I will,” said Arthur, “ if you promise rne not to talk any more, 
but to try and go to sleep.” 

“ All right. I will do anything you want me to. I always have. 
You know that, don’t you } Just tell me you know that.” 

And the boy’s great, brown eyes, hot and feverish, were lifted 
wistfully to his. Arthur began to feel alarmed. 

“See here, young one,” he said, in his old-time tone of author- 
ity, “ you are making too much of a fuss over all this. I know you 
have always done what I wanted you to ; and now I want you to 
belay all this talk, and go to sleep.” 

“ All right. I will try. Only I begin falling overboard again. 
Don’t go away.” 

“ No, I won’t,” said Arthur. “ But I want you to shut your 
eyes.” 

Holding Arthur’s hand, Dudley obediently shut his eyes, and in 
a short time his labored breathing and nervous starts and mutter- 
ings told Arthur that he was slumbering. Arthur did not dare to 
release his hand, knowing how much this sleep must benefit him. 
He grew cramped, and his arm pained him as he sat there 
between waking and sleeping, and heard the bell strike the hours, 
until finally he was aroused by the entrance of the surgeon, who 
promptly ordered him off to bed. 

The next morning Dudley was in a high fever, and delirious, 
and the doctor looked very grave. This gravity transmitted 
itself throughout the ship, and hushed each man’s footsteps as he 
passed the improvised hospital on the gun-deck, where the lad lay 
in a swinging cot. Arthur was by his side most of the time, for 
the blow he had received on the arm disabled him from active 
duty. Meantime, the day after the adventure, the captain com- 
plimented him in orders on his action in jumping overboard after 
Dudley. Commenting on the coolness and presence of mind he 
had displayed in dropping the buoy, and the courage, he had 
shown in risking his own life to save that of another, the captain 
said it was with satisfaction that he took this occasion to bring to 
the notice of the Department at Washington, not only this special 
act of heroism, but the high estimation in which Mr. Arlingford 
was held by all of his superior officers. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


147 


The day following, the “ Comet ” dropped her anchor inside the 
breakwater at Cherbourg, and that night Captain Topman sent 
for Arthur. 

“ Arlingford,'’ he said, “ the doctor and I have just been having 
a little consultation about Mr. Dudley. They tell me that the 
poor boy is pretty badly off, and we have come to the conclusion 
to send him ashore, where he can have perfect rest and quiet, 
which of course he cannot have aboard ship. I understand from 
them that he is liable to have trouble with his lungs, to which he 
was predisposed. In fact, he was always delicate. They think 
— and I agree with them — that as soon as he is sufficiently recov- 
ered from the complication of troubles caused by the blow he 
received and the shock of the accident, he had better leave the 
sea-coast and go inland, where it is warm and dry. Now, as you 
are disabled from active duty by the condition of your arm, I pro- 
pose to give you both a sick leave, so that while you are recuper- 
ating you can look after Dudley. The probabilities are that before 
your furlough expires you will get orders from Washington, as it 
is nearly time for your class to be sent home for examination for 
promotion. I wish you good luck, sir,” concluded the captain, 
“ and, if I can ever be of any service to you, don't fail to call on 
me.” 

A few days afterward Arthur found himself standing at the 
windows of a bright, sunny apartment in the quaint old-world 
town of Cherbourg, watching the “ Comet ” steaming* out of the 
harbor. Turning away at last, with a long-drawn breath, he set- 
tled himself in an easy chair and filling his pipe, gave himself 
over to the various thoughts and feelings to which this strange 
situation gave rise. Here he was, after his long and deeply con- 
sidered determination not to go near Paris, when, apparently, 
chance had carried him bodily away from the temptation — here he 
was, placed within a few hours’ ride of the city, free to go there 
whenever he would. Surely it was a queer trick that fate had 
played him. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


“ Of course I understand your feeling about not wanting to 
leave your friend, although there are veiy few men who would be 
so exceedingly conscientious. I do not ask you to leave him. 
Bring him with you. Although I remember that he does not like 
me, I like him, and we will all take the best care of him. You 
have been in Cherbourg three weeks now, and Mr. Dudley has 
been up and out for nearly a week. How do I know.^ Well, 
never mind. I know lots of things. Cherbourg is no place 
for him, at any rate if he has trouble with his lungs. The 
cold, damp wind from the channel is enough to send him 
into consumption. I asked a friend of mine here, who is a 
famous doctor, all about it, and he said that Mr. Dudley would be 
much better off in Paris if he took good care of himself, and did 
not go out too much at night. So there is no reason at all why 
you should not come. You said, when I asked you at Newport, 
that you would come ‘ if you could,’ and you know perfectly well 
that you can now. You have no idea what a hero you are here. 
The papers had long accounts of your 'devotion,^ of your ' acte 
heroique I magnifique ! ' It was heroic too, and I am ever so 
proud of you. 

*•••••••• 

“ I did not know that you had relatives in Paris. The other 
night, when we were talking about you, a gentleman whom I have 
only recently met. a M. de Beaugarde, said that you were his 
cousin. His aunt, or great-aunt, had married your grandfather, 
I think he said. I did not get it very straight. He seemed sur- 
prised when I told him you were in Cherbourg, and said that he 
hoped you would come to Paris. He is really very nice and very 
wicked. In fact most of the gentlemen here are very nice — and 
wicked. You will have to be very careful when you arrive, and 
not get led astray. There is no occasion for you to be any nicer 
than you are.” 


148 


A BLIND BARGAIN, 1 49 

“ Who is your letter from ? '* asked Dudley, as Arthur folded 
the closely written sheet, and replaced it in his pocket. 

They were sitting in one of the public squares on a balmy spring 
day, when the trees were busily unfolding their buds into delicate 
leaves and the grass was getting thick and green, and the birds 
were chirping in the bushes, and all nature was glad. Gaudily 
dressed soldiers and white-capped nurses flirted in the alleys 
under the trees, while gayly clad children disported themselves 
like so many butterflies in the sunshine. 

Arthur and Dudley, during the last week of the latter’s conva- 
lescence, had become familiar figures in this pretty square. The 
children came and stared at them at first, stared at the big 
brown sailor-man who had jumped into the water after his friend, 
this other one with the white face, for the story soon became 
known in the idle gossip of the town. After a while, the little 
ones, grown bolder, would sit on Arthur’s knee while he told them 
stories of that strange America where he came from ; while Cur- 
ley, whose knowledge of the language was decidedly limited, 
would recline indolently on a bench, and make running comments 
on Arthur’s performances, audaciously criticising his accent, and 
correcting his pronunciation. It was a pretty group ; and many a 
woman’s glance rested with gentle interest on the pale cheeks and 
big brown eyes of the invalid, and the bronzed, bearded face of 
his companion, as they sat thus surrounded by children in the 
warm sunlight under the trees. 

“ Who is your letter from ? ” inquired Dudley. 

Whereupon Arthur turned and looked at him with an assump- 
tion of surprise and rebuke. 

“ Oh, that is all very fine,” said Curley, “ but you know perfectly 
well that you ought not to receive any letters that you are not 
perfectly willing for me to read. Is not that so, ’Toinette?” he 
added to a little five-year-old who stood leaning against him, play- 
ing with his watch-chain. 

“ What does he say ? ” said the child to Arthur. 

“ He is talking nonsense,” replied Arthur, in French. 

“ Is he ? ” said ’ Toinette, looking at Dudley, with sympathetic 
fellowship. 

“ It is from Paris, isn’t it? ” continued Dudley. 

“ Yes,” said Arthur, “ it is from Paris, if you are so anxious to 
know.” 

And then for the twentieth time in the last two days Dudley 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


150 

exclaimed, “ Let us go to Paris, Arley. I am all right now. You 
know the captain and the doctors and all the rest of them said 
that I ought not to stay here after I got well.’’ 

“ Yes,” said Arthur, “ but they did not say anything about 
Paris. You would not behave yourself there ; you would be down 
sick in a month.” 

“ I would not either,” retorted Curley belligerently. “ I .should 
like to know if I don’t always behave myself everywhere. That is 
the trouble with me, I am too good.” 

At which Arthur grunted significantly. 

“ At any rate,” said Curley, “ we have got to go to Paris to get 
anywhere else ; and there is no reason why we should not stay 
there for a few days till I get rested.” 

‘‘ You are not in a condition to travel,’’ said Arthur. 

“ Perhaps you know more about it than the doctor does,” re- 
torted Curley. 

“ Did he say you were ? ” 

“ He said I should be in a day or two.” 

“ Well, then, if he says so, 1 suppose we shall have to go.” 

“ Of course,” assented Curley. “Although,” he added, “ if you 
really don’t want to go, we won’t say anything more about it. 
I don’t care so much as all that. Only I should think you would 
rather be in Paris then here.” 

“ Oh, I don’t mind,” replied Arthur carelessly ; “ only I think it 
will be better for both of us to keep out of Paris.” 

“ How discreet we are growing, all of a sudden ! ” said Curley. 

But a few weeks later he remembered this reply of Arthur’s 
when events gave it a meaning which at the time he had no idea 
of attaching to it. 

That afternoon, Arthur wrote to his cousin, M. de Beaugarde, 
and asked him to obtain apartments for himself and Dudley in 
some quiet neighborhood. In a few days he received a cordial 
reply from De Beaugarde, saying that he had made all necessary 
arrangements, and would meet them at the railway station. 

And so, not without regret for the gentle, peaceful pleasures of 
the old town, Arthur and Dudley set out for the modern Babylon. 

It was a damp, gloorhy evening when they arrived in Paris. 

The myriad lights of the great city were blurred and hazy in the 
moisture which glistened upon the umbrellas of the pedestrians, 
the carriages, the pavement of the streets, and the houses, as 
though everything had been newly varnished. They found M. de 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Beaugarde awaiting them with a big easy family carriage, into a 
corner of which he installed Dudley as deftly and gently as a 
woman, talking and laughing during the proceeding as though he 
had known them for years. In the scant opportunities which 
Arthur had for observing this newly found relative, he appeared to 
be about thirty-five years of age, with the easy manners of a 
man of the world, and the vivacity of a Frenchman. As they 
drove off he explained to Arthur, in his native tongue, that his 
mother had insisted on his bringing them to her house. 

“ But,” said he, shrugging his shoulders, “my dear mother does 
not understand. It would not please you to be in that great, 
empty house. You would rather be in apartments where you can 
go and come with perfect freedom. Is it not so ? It is unneces- 
sary to say that we would be very glad to have you at my 
mother’s house. Although I do not live there myself, understand, 
you are our cousin, and it is the same as your home to come to or 
not as you will. I tell you this because my good mother will ask 
you herself, and you must not let her wishes interfere with your 
convenience. Meantime I have procured apartments for you with 
the understanding that, if they please you not, very good, — you do 
not remain. Is that ‘ all right,’ as you say in English ? ” 

Arthur thanked his cousin heartily for his thoughtfulness, and 
saying that he feared he would inconvenience Madame la Com- 
tesse by accepting her kind offer, he would keep the rooms. 

“ Inconvenience ! ” replied Beaugarde. “ No ! On the con- 
trary, my mother will take it much to heart that you do not go to 
her home. But it is the pleasure of yourself and your friend that 
you must consult. A"//, I we have arrived.” 

The house at which they stopped was in a quiet street opening 
off the Rue de Rivoli, and the rooms proved to be very pretty, com- 
fortable apartments, precisely what Arthur desired. Beaugarde 
seemed gratified when Arthur expressed his satisfaction, and hav- 
ing seen them installed, and explained the arrangements he had 
made for their service, he took his leave with many protestations 
of his desire to make their visit to Paris a pleasant one. 

The day following, Arthur paid a visit to his aunt. He found 
the Hotel de Beaugarde a melancholy building in the Faubourg St. 
Germain, fully sustaining by its appearance the gloomy character 
given it by his cousin. The Countess herself, however, was the 
opposite of her dwelling, being bright and cheerful to a degree 
which dimmed even the vivacity of her son. She was a little 


152 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


woman with white hair and youthful black eyes which seemed to 
belong to some one else. She evidently prided herself on her 
knowledge of English, which in fact she spoke well, occasionally 
using words with a quaint and unusual fitness that produced pleas- 
ant surprises to those whose native tongue it was. She promptly 
took Arthur to task for not having made her house his home 
while in Paris. 

“ But I understand,” she said, “ it is so with young men that 
they like not to be what you say in English ‘ to the apron-string 
tied.' Am I not right?” And she smiled good-humoredly. 
“ Ah,” she continued, making Arthur sit by her side, “ you are like 
your grandfather. I remember him well ; though, to be sure, I 
was but a baby when he carried away my dear, sainted sister. He 
was very handsome, that grandfather of yours, tall, like you, with 
the grand air. And you are like your father, too. You are a true 
Arlingford. You have none of the features of our house, like your 
dear sister Kate. She is one of us. When your father brought 
her to me, three, four, five years ago, — eh, mon Dieu ! is it five 
years ago ? truly, yes, — I give you my word I thought it was my 
dear sister come back again. Come, you shall see for yourself.” 

And, taking Arthur into another room, she show'ed him a paint- 
ing of a black-eyed, black-haired young woman, with the waist of 
her gown under her arms, and a bunch of curls on each side of her 
pretty face. In truth it did look like Miss Kate a- masquerading. 

“ That was your grandmother,” said the countess. “ And Kate, 
the pretty little one, she is her repetition, is Kate. And when she 
came from the Convent School to visit me of a Saturday, she 
would entreat me to be shown this picture, and would sit there on 
a chair, and hold her hands thus, as does the picture, and say, 

‘ Now I am grandmamma.’ How is she, that dear Kate ? But you 
do not know. You have not see her for a year. And that beauti- 
ful one, her friend, her cousin, what was her name ? She came to 
the school with her. Ah, yes ! Gertrude. But she was what you 
call the elf, the fairy. My son — he was enraptured with her. 
And she is to be married, your dear father tells me. Incredible j 
You know the fortunate gentleman, this Monsieur — Monsieur — ” 

“ Yates ? ” said Arthur. “ Yes, I know him, but not intimately.” 

“ He is worthy of her ? He will make her a good husband ? 
Yes, without doubt,” she added, as Arthur did not reply very 
promptly, while she straightway built a romance on this slight 
foundation, with the thought, “ Ah, this poor boy, he loves the 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 1 53 

charming Gertrude himself, perhaps.” And then continuing aloud, 
she said, “ You will meet her here ? ” 

“ Who, madame, Gertrude ? ” 

“ Yes, surely. You know that she is coming to Paris? ” 

“ No, I did not,” said Arthur, somewhat startled. “ I had not 
heard of it.” 

“ But I think so,” said the countess. “ Stop, I will send for your 
father’s letter. He is very good, that dear major. He writes to 
me three or four times in the year. Here it is,” she continued, as 
a maid, in reply to her summons, brought her the letter. “Yes, 
truly, Madame Arlingford, his sister-in-law, poor lady, suffers with 
a malady of the heart, and her physicians advise her to consult our 
learned doctor, M. Perault. She leaves for Paris in May. She 
will arrive the first of J une, in three weeks, you see ; and Gertrude 
accompanies her. Without doubt, mademoiselle will have her 
trousseau made here. It is the manner of young ladies in 
America, is it not so ? And to think that your poor mother does 
not know that you are here. Ah, what a thing it is to have one’s 
son a sailor, not to know% when one prays for the dear one at 
night, where he may be ! But what a happy surprise it will be for 
your aunt and Gertrude to meet you in Paris ! And you, you will 
be very glad to see them ! Yes ? ” And the little lady smiled be- 
nignly in anticipation of Arthur’s reply. 

But he answered, “ I am afraid that I shall not be here to meet 
them. I shall remain in Paris only a few days.” 

“Ah, but that is unfortunate!” exclaimed the countess; and 
thinking to herself, “ Yes, without doubt, poor boy, he loves the 
little Gertrude, and fears to meet her,” she took a pensive pleasure 
in the fancy, and refrained from urging him further. 

“ Officers in the navy are not their own masters,” said Arthur, 
smiling, as he arose to take his leave. “ Besides, I am afraid that 
too long a stay in Paris will not be good for my friend, Mr. Dud-, 
ley. The doctors tell me he ought to go to the south of France or 
Italy.” 

“Mr. Dudley is fortunate in having you for a friend, my 
nephew,” said the countess kindly. “ Ah,” she continued, holding 
up her forefinger at Arthur, “ I know all about that affair of the 
rescue, and I shall write to your good father to-night, and tell him 
with what pride and pleasure I welcome his son to my house.” 

Altogether Arthur was very much pleased with his new-found 
relatives. His cousin was exceedingly amiable, courteous, and 


154 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


attentive, and at the same time careful not to oppress him with hos- 
pitality. A thorough man of the world, he understood just what 
to do and what not to do in a matter of this sort. Apart from the 
kinship which existed, Arthur and his companion aroused M. de 
Beaugarde’s interest, their arrival and subsequent acquaintance 
gave him what he himself would have called a new emotion. And 
this transient interest before long developed into friendship, the 
companionship, at first a social duty, becoming a matter of choice. 
Like many bachelor Parisians of good family and ample means, 
Beaugarde did not lead an irreproachable life, but he was too 
much of a gentleman to involve Arthur in pursuits which might be 
at variance with his tastes, or beyond his purse. His time he 
freely placed at his disposal, and in all the city there was probably 
no man more thoroughly conversant with every form and phase of 
amusement to be had within its boundaries. One trait which 
Beaugarde displayed, won Arthur’s liking at the outset, and that 
was the tact and good taste he showed in recognizing Dudley’s 
youth and inexperience, and the restraint he put upon himself to 
avoid any kind of pleasure liable to do him harm. In the exercise 
of this novel part of protector of ingenuous youth, M. de Beau- 
garde grew to be quite fond of his protege, while Curley, having 
overcome his native shyness, was equally drawn to the sunny, 
good-humored Frenchman. Not that Curley acquiesced in Beau- 
garde’s moral guardianship ; on the contrary, as soon as their 
friendship was established, there was a constant warfare, in which 
broken English and shattered French, intermixed with argot and 
Marine-College slang, was freely interchanged. Curley, with an 
injured air, declared that Beaugarde would start out in the most 
mysterious way as though he was going to indulge in some awful 
wickedness, the very worst there was in Paris, and when he got 
him all excited, would end by showing him a picture gallery or 
cathedral. He had not come to Paris to see picture galleries or 
cathedrals ! What had he come for ? Beaugarde would ask inno- 
cently, whereat Curley would laugh and bluster to hide the blush 
that despite his self-control w'ould come upon his fresh young face. 

As for Arthur, it was not long before he was putting the same 
question to himself, though without a responsive blush. What 
had he come to Paris for? Whatever he came for, he very soon 
found himself engrossed in pursuits in which Dudley had no part. 
At the outset, he had fixed the limit of their stay at two weeks, 
but no reference was again made to this understanding. Even at 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


155 


the time he had so spoken, he felt very little reliance upon this 
anchor he was planting to windward. There was only one point 
on which his mind was made up, and that was that Gertrude’s 
arrival should be the signal for his departure. He had come to 
Paris in fulfilment of his promise to Mrs. Merrin. He would not 
remain to meet Gertrude. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


The evening of the day after his arrival, Arthur, accompanied 
by his cousin Beaugarde, called upon Mrs. Merrin. She was 
occupying a handsome suite of rooms on the second floor of a 
large house in the Boulevard Haussmann. It was her reception 
evening, and the apartments were filled with people, men largely 
predominating, In fact, Mrs. Merrin’s acquaintance was confined 
almost wholly to men. She had not been slow to avail herself 
of the advantages of Parisian taste in the business of the toilet. 
She was exquisitely dressed, and her naturally stylish figure had a 
finish in its costume that made it perfect. 

“ So,” she said, giving Arthur both of her hands, as he made 
his bow before her, “you have come at last.” 

“ Yes,” he said, “ I have come at last.” At the very marked 
favor with which their hostess greeted her tall, handsome country- 
man, a dozen pairs of masculine eyes were turned upon Arthur, 
and some with no very friendly expression. Arthur saw that this 
woman was a queen in a certain way among these men, and he 
was not unimpressed by the favor with w’hich she singled him 
out. As he accepted her favor, and let his eyes rest upon her 
handsome face, heightened slightly by art, and her faultless form 
so perfectly draped, a spark of fire long since all but extinguished 
in his breast flickered into life, a sort of wicked elation brightened 
his eyes, and darkened the color in his face, and impelled him to 
hold her hands for a moment and let his eyes meet hers ; then 
calmly he looked around at her other male guests. 

In the primeval days of our savage ancestry perhaps this glance 
w'ould have been followed by a wielding of clubs. As it was it 
was followed by introductions. Mrs. Merrin smiled as Arthur 
relinquished her hand, and taking his arm presented him in turn 
to the occupants of the room. They were one and all men of the 
Paris world, titled idlers, rich seekers after pleasure, gentlemen 
whose constant presence in his wife’s salon could scarcely have 
afforded unmitigated satisfaction to Mr. Merrin had he known 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


157 


them intimately; intimately, for instance, as Beaugarde knew 
them. Mrs. Merrin insisted on introducing Arthur to every one, 
making some reference to his recent exploit on each occasion, 
heralding him as a lion. After the favorable impression she had 
made upon him by her personal appearance, this violence to the 
canons of good-breeding and refinement grated upon Arthur. It 
seemed to him as though she were displaying him before these 
men, displaying him as one of her possessions whose value she 
desired to impress upon them. It annoyed him to be so posed, 
and he resented the various civil things that were said in response 
to her praise. One of the gentlemen, a blonde man of thirty-seven 
or forty, with innumerable wrinkles about his eyes, and a puffi- 
ness under them, and a supercilious expression in them heightened, 
by the single glass he wore, a man likely to inspire an instinctive 
repugnance in an innocent woman’s breast, made himself particu- 
larly obnoxious to Arthur by his manner. 

“ Comte de Carambole,” said Mrs. Merrin, “ I wish to present 
a friend of whom you have heard me speak. Mr. Arlingford, 
Comte de Carambole.” 

The two men bowed, while the count raising his glass with an 
air of surveying Arthur, not pronounced enough to be marked, 
but sufficient to make it felt, dropped his glass, and turned to Mrs. 
Merrin with a bow. It said politely in answer to her showman- 
like introduction, “ Thanks, — it is quite interesting ; where did you 
get it ? ” and she in her ignorance was provoked into trying to 
impress the count more thoroughly with this new acquisition to 
her train. 

“ Mr. Arlingford is the officer who jumped overboard in the 
Bay of Biscay, and rescued his friend. You must have read the 
account of it. The papers were full of his gallantry.” 

Arthur bit his lips with repressed anger, while the count again 
raised his glass, and looked at him. “ I regret,” he said, “ that 
I have not heard of the incident. No doubt it was highly credit- 
able.” Then turning to Mrs. Merrin, he added, with a profound 
bow, '' Any man would be glad of the opportunity to risk his life 
for such praise from the lips of Madame.” 

Whereupon Arthur turned away, while Mrs. Merrin, laying her 
hand on the count’s arm, opened her eyes wide, and said, with 
childlike ingenuousness, “Would they really ” and then adding, 
“ I believe you are flattering me,” rejoined Arthur, and drew him 
away to put him through another ordeal. When he had been 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


158 

introduced to most of them present, and said and heard the same 
things repeated a dozen or more times, Arthur’s first fleeting 
sense of pleasurable excitement was replaced by weariness, and 
he soon made it convenient to take his departure. 

“ You will come and see me to-morrow,” said Mrs. Merrin. " I 
have not had time to talk to you to-night. Say to-morrow about 
one. I shall be alone then.” 

“ I don’t think I shall be able to come to-morrow,” he replied. 
“ The Countess, de Beaugarde expects me to be with her. You 
know I have several relatives here whom I must see.” 

An expression of dissatisfaction darkened Mrs. Merrin’s face as 
she quickly answered, “ Aren’t you beginning to make excuses 
rather soon.^ I am not accustomed to having my invitations 
declined here, and I shall expect you to sacrifice your other 
engagements to come to see me when I ask you. I want you to 
come to-morrow, and I shall expect you. Good-night.” 

And Arthur was there at the hour designated. In a very little 
while after that, when appointments were made he ceased trying 
to evade them. “What’s the odds,” he said, “after all.^” And 
soon he was as familiar a frequenter of that luxurious salon as 
even the Comte de Carambole himself. His cousin, Beaugarde, 
lightly congratulated him upon the favor with which he was 
regarded in the Boulevard Haussmann. Arthur, however, tvas not 
in a humor to receive such remarks complacently, and did not 
take the trouble to hide the fact that such allusions were distaste- 
ful. Whereat Beaugarde secretly shrugged his shoulders and 
wondered at these queer Americans. There was scarcely a man 
about town who would not give his little finger to be the good 
friend of Madame Merrin, and take special pains to let everybody 
know it too. For where was the advantage, the glory, of winning 
a woman’s favor if you did not let everybody know what an irre- 
sistible fellow you were ! And as for talking about the lady in 
question, was not her name on the lips of everyone, in the Bois, at 
the theatres, on the race-course ? Was she not famous, this beau- 
tiful American, this divine “ Cleopatre” ? If Arthur was going to 
frown every time he heard her name, he would have duels enough 
to keep him busy from now till the New Year. As for Beaugarde, 
himself, he was rather amused and flattered with his cousin’s suc- 
cess with “ La Merrin,” the sensation of the season. He listened 
complacently to the comments of his friends on the irresistibility 
of that brave Mr. Arlingford, although he refrained after Arthur’s 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


159 


protest from repeating them. Only once did he refer to the 
matter again, and then it was to caution his cousin against the 
Comte de Carambole, 

“ Beware of him, inon cher, he is bad. He will do you a mis- 
chief if he can.” 

Arthur, borrowing Beaugarde’s favorite gesture, shrugged his 
shoulders, and replied, “ I am not afraid of him.” 

“ Afraid } no,” said Beaugarde. “ I did not speak of fear. I 
only caution you.” 

Now it must not be supposed that Mrs. Merrin s career in Paris 
escaped unfavorable criticism among those of her own nationality, 
or that she herself was free from reproach. There were enough 
Americans in Paris, who, having learned its wickedness, made it 
their business to guard their newly arrived compatriots from the 
shocking experience ; and if any such strangers should persist in 
gathering forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge for them- 
selves they were pretty sure of incurring the condemnation of the 
American colony. In the beginning of her sojourn Mrs. Merrin 
had plenty of acquaintances all eager to tell her what she must 
not do, to point out to her that the freedom which was tolerated 
in America was liable to misconstruction in France, that French- 
men would misinterpret that childlike, confiding, familiar manner 
of hers ; that she must not rouge or powder, or wear such striking 
costumes, or receive indiscriminate attention, or do various other 
little things which she was used to doing, without placing herself 
in a false position. Whereupon Mrs. Merrin, innocently arching 
her brows, replied “ Yes } ” in a wondering tone, and proceeded 
to do one and all of these things, and many more, to the intense 
indignation of her countrywomen. 

Some indeed warned Mr. Merrin of the course that his wife was 
taking, but unavailing! y, for Mr. Merrin was too much engrossed 
in the London stock market to pay much attention to these mis- 
sions. It was easier to ascribe such reports to envious gossip 
than to involve himself in a quarrel with his wife by noticing them 
seriously. He did, during the occasional visits he made to Paris, 
expostulate with her on her extravagance. But his expostulations 
resulted only in unpleasant scenes, and he found it easier to 
redouble his efforts to make money to meet these increased 
demands. In fact, he preferred the risks of the stock market to 
the risks of curtailing his wife’s expensive habits. He argued that 
it was only for a few months, and rneqntirne extended his ven- 


6o 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


tures, the management of which kept him in London, and so gave 
his wife not only money but opportunities as well. Perhaps Mrs. 
Merrin took good care not to make it too pleasant for him during 
his occasional visits. Certainly his last sojourn, which had 
occurred a week or so prior* to Arthur s arrival, had not from all 
accounts been a cheerful one. From what Mrs. Merrin herself 
said, Arthur fancied that some of Mr. Merrin’s speculations had 
proved unsatisfactory of late, and that his wife’s bills which had 
greeted him on his arrival had been an unpleasant surprise, 
straitened as he was at the moment; that he had, in fact, lost 
his temper, and that the conjugal meeting had been a stormy 
one. 

Mrs. Merrin talked very freely of these domestic affairs, not- 
withstanding Arthur’s discouragement of such confidences. She 
played the part of a much abused wife, and expressed unbounded 
indignation at her husband’s “ cruelty ” in trying to deny her the 
pleasures and amusements of life. “He makes so much fuss 
about my spending money,” she exclaimed. “ I don’t spend half 
as much as some women here. Look at Madame Augerau and 
the Comtesse de Bruyeres. They spend ten times as much as I 
do, and I venture to say that their husbands never utter a word, 
much less come home and abuse them, yes, abuse them for it ! I 
did not have one-half my bills sent in to him when he was here, 
yet the way he went on you would have thought I had spent a 
fortune. You have no idea what I have had to endure from that 
man, Arthur ! He says the most dreadful things to me, and I 
wonder that I have put up with it as long as I have.” 

And sometimes in narrating the story of her wrongs Mrs. Mer- 
rin would become so imbued with the character of an injured wife 
that her eyes would flash and her cheeks flame, and she would 
throw herself into a veritable passion, thereby giving Arthur a 
very vivid conception of the scene which had actually taken place 
between herself and her husband. Her French friends rather 
encouraged her in this role, but to Arthur it was very distasteful, 
especially as he was expected to sympathize vigorously with her, a 
course which his honesty and sense of justice forbade, and he was 
no actor. All of her French friends were voluble enough in con- 
doling with such a wronged wife, whenever they were the recip- 
ients of her confidences, and denouncing such a cruel husband. 
They would have gone through that performance or any other 
that suited her whim of the moment, with intense emotion, and 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


l6l 


have forgotten it in the lighting of a cigarette. They satisfied her, 
these surface emotions, just as though they were real. 

But where a Frenchman would lightly win her favor for the 
moment, and be rewarded with her sunniest smiles, Arthur, taking 
matters seriously, obeying his conscience would incur her resent- 
ment by his silence or openly expressed disapproval, oftentimes 
drawing down upon himself a storm of reproach. A dozen times 
a week would she quarrel with his behavior toward her, and yet 
she retained him by her side. It was this very characteristic 
which probably drew her to him. She felt the force of his man- 
hood, and her weak nature was attracted by it. She craved his 
mastery, and if he had asserted his power she would have been 
satisfied to have been his slave, at least for a time. But he refused 
to assert his power, disclaimed the sceptre, and submitted rather 
to her tyranny, which followed as a matter of course. She drew 
him to her with all sorts of pretexts, having the underlying power 
of compulsion, and now having got him to Paris evinced a deter- 
mination to keep him there. 


11 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


How Mrs. Merrin obtained her influence over Arthur may be 
explained in a few words. It was a matter of three or four years 
ago, when, as far as worldly experience was concerned, Arthur 
was little more than a boy. On the other hand, Mrs. Merrin was 
a bright, pretty, young married woman, with much style and some 
worldly wisdom. Being a married woman there was more free- 
dom of intercourse between herself and the opposite sex than 
was possible for the average young lady visitor at Carleton, to 
whom attention was speedily rumored as engagement. The 
society of such a woman, perhaps a little older than himself, if not 
in age certainly in knowledge of the world, has a charm for a 
young man ; her acceptance of his attentions is a powerful form 
of flattery. Mrs. Merrin, becoming interested in the handsome, 
athletic, young midshipman, exercised that charm over Arthur. 
She liked him for his manliness, for his quaint, chivalrous ideas of 
women, while his ingenuousness and innocence amused her, it 
was so different from the knowing assurance of the men she met 
in society. She made a companion of him, went rowing with 
him, danced with him at the hops, and, in the confidence engen- 
dered by his ingenuousness and her worldliness, encouraged him 
as she would not and could not have done other men without 
serious deliberation. 

As a natural consequence, Arthur fell in love with Mrs. Merrin, 
or believed that he did, which, in such cases, is pretty much the 
same thing. She at first treated his avowals lightly, laughingly, 
although it was no light or laughing matter with him. On the 
contrary, with the ideas of honor inculcated by his father, and 
which were still fresh and unmodified by contact with the world, 
he felt degraded by his passion for another man’s wife, while at 
the same time he was so infatuated that despite his efforts he 
could not release himself. He was not aware that Mrs. Merrin 
would not let him release himself ; that when he made the effort, 
she, with a word or a look, tightened his bonds. In the pretty 

162 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 1 63 

comedy she was playing she made him believe that it was he who 
was leading her astray. 

But affairs of this sort, “ flirtations,” so called, whether 
indulged in for amusement, caprice, or passion, must either pro- 
gress or retrograde; they cannot remain stationary. And so it 
was that this affair, beginning in caprice, went further than Mrs. 
Merrin intended, and involved her in consequences more serious 
than she contemplated. It happened one evening that she had 
made an appointment to take a walk with Arthur. He was to 
meet her after ‘‘ taps,” the signal for extinguishing lights as the 
Marine College, and as the midshipmen were supposed to retire at 
that hour, ten o’clock, the meeting was necessarily clandestine. 
It was not the first time, by any means, that Arthur had run the 
risk of secretly leaving his room at night on such an errand. Mrs. 
Merrin did not encourage him the less for the danger, it increased 
the romance. The risk she herself encountered did not impress 
her at the time, she was so confident of her power of controlling 
such an innocent, provincial affair. She forgot that innocent 
affairs, lacking the caution which guilty ones inspire, oftentimes 
suffer a more disastrous termination in the eyes of the world. 

It was a glorious moonlight night on which the meeting in 
question took place, and at Arthur’s urgent solicitation, Mrs. 
Merrin consented to go out on the bay in his sailboat. The pro- 
found stillness of the warm summer evening, unbroken save by 
the low tones of their voices and the “ lapping ” of the water, 
rendered sailing delightful. It was a night in which humanity 
seemed to have a part in nature, like the water, and the moon- 
light, and the soft wind. In such a night, heavy with life, was 
Puck and his kindred conceived, and on such a night do the wild 
crew love to ride down the breeze and scatter the barriers of civ- 
ilization. Mankind once more becomes a child of nature, a sav- 
age, a faun, whatever ancient priest or modern poet chooses to 
term it, and goes a sailing through the air with his feelings at the 
helm, and that will-o’-the-wisp. Fancy, for a guiding star. Time 
has no place on such a night. And so it was, that, with a feeling 
of alarm, Mrs. Merrin suddenly became convinced that it must be 
very late. They were a long distance out, and the wind had died 
down. Arthur got out his oars, but to his dismay, found that the 
tide was against him. Inspired by his companion’s distress, he 
plied his oars with all the strength and skill of which he was mas- 
ter, but the best he could do was sufficient to make only slow 


164 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


headway against the tide. The affair was getting serious. 
Finally, abandoning the effort to return to the college sea wall, 
he determined to land in the lower part of the town itself, and 
procure a carriage or walk up to the navy yard. Having effected 
the landing, Mrs. Merrin preferred walking to the risk of attempt- 
ing to get a carriage at that hour, the respectable old town having 
long since sunk into somnolence and silence, broken only by the 
barking of a dog as they hurried along the white, moonlit streets. 
Fearing the challenge of the sentry at the main gate, Arthur con- 
ducted his companion into the navy yard by a circuitous route 
known to himself. The bell struck three o’clock as they entered 
the grounds. Mrs. Merrin hurried silently along in the shadow 
of the buildings, her reproaches and complaints having gradually 
been overcome by alarm and fatigue. As they neared the resi- 
dence at which she was visiting and Arthur was congratulating 
himself on the successful termination of the adventure, Mrs. 
Merrin suddenly stopped, and, letting her hands fall to her side 
with a gesture of despair, exclaimed, How am I going to get 
in!” 

“ Why, surely they have left the door on the latch for you,” said 
Arthur. 

“No, no,” cried Mrs. Merrin, “you don’t understand; Mrs. 
Soane said she was tired and was going to bed early, and she gave 
me the key, and I left it in my room. They have talked about us 
so much lately,” she continued, “ and now to have this happen ! ” 
And, nervous and tired, she began to weep. 

With a feeling that he would like to fight every man in the place, 
Arthur did his best to comfort and console her. 

“ Let us ring the bell,” he said, “ they won’t know what time it 
is, and if they do, what does it matter .> You can tell them just 
how we were detained, and there will be nothing thought 
of it.” 

“ There will be something thought of it ! ” she replied petulantly. 
“ But I suppose there is nothing else to be done.” 

So the next moment the bell rang noisily through the house. 
Again and again he sounded it, until Arthur feared that he would 
alarm the whole of the navy yard before he could arouse the 
inmates of the house. 

“ They are doing it on purpose ! ” sobbed Mrs. Merrin. 

At last there was a responsive creak upon the stairs, the door 
was unbolted, and Arthur, with an unanswered “ good-night,” took 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 165 

his departure, with a premonition of impending evil by no means 
in accordance with his own words of cheer. 

The next morning he received a message from Mrs. Merrin 
urging him to come and see her as soon as possible. On comply- 
ing with her request, Arthur found her pale and disturbed and her 
eyes red with weeping. 

“ I told you how it would be,” she exclaimed, as he entered the 
room. “ You have got me into a pretty trouble ! ” 

Greatly concerned he urged her to explain, which, after sundry 
other reproaches, she did, by telling him that some one had seen 
their surreptitious entrance into the navy yard, and had told Mr. 
Soane, the husband of the friend with whom she was staying. It 
was he who had opened the door for her last night, and when at 
breakfast she made some laughing allusion to her having been out 
sailing and detained by the wind going dowm, her explanation was 
received in silence. 

“That made me angry,” continued Mrs. Merrin, “and I got up 
and left the table. I went to Mrs. Soane afterward, and asked her 
what they meant by behaving in that way. And then she told me 
what her husband had heard about our coming in from the direc- 
tion of town in the early morning, and that he did not believe that 
I had been out sailing at all ! And she told me all sorts of dread- 
ful things that people have been saying about you and me,” 
continued Mrs. Merrin, beginning to cry again, “ and that her hus- 
band was very angry about what happened last night, and had 
written to Mr. Merrin, and was going to report you to the com- 
mandant for being out all night, and that will make it all public ! ” 
she cried, breaking down completely. “ If Mr. Merrin hears of it 
he will kill me ! I can't and I won’t stay here any longer, and I 
don’t know what to do or where to go ! Oh, why was I such a 
fool ? ” 

Arthur had listened to this agitated recital with a variety of 
emotions. Regret for the trouble in which he had involved this 
woman whom he loved predominated ; the sight of her tears over- 
whelmed him with reproach. At the same time the sensation was 
not unmixed with pleasure. She was shedding those tears on his 
account, and the very cause of them drew him and her closer 
together in isolation from the rest of humanity. He felt the power 
of a dozen men to shield her from slight or insult, and when 
she had finished her story his mind was quickly made up. 

“ Will you go with me, Lilly ? ” he said. “ Will you let me take 


i66 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


care of you ? It seems selfish to ask you such a thing, for you 
would give up so much, and I so little. And I would not ask it 
except for what has happened. I will protect you and take care of 
you as though you were a sister until you can get a divorce from 
him, from this other man, and then, if you will have me for a hus- 
band, I will try to make you happy, and I know I can ! ’’ 

She looked up at him through her tears as he rapidly gave utter- 
ance to this proposition, looked at him curiously, as though she did 
not quite understand whether he was in earnest. But there was 
no doubting his sincerity; he was pale, but quite calm, and evi- 
dently meant exactly what he said. When Mrs. Merrin realized 
this it seemed for a moment as though she was about to laugh, but 
suppressing the inclination, she said, “You foolish boy! Don’t 
you know that anything of that sort is utterly out of the ques- 
tion ? ” 

“ Why } ” said Arthur. 

“Why, because it is,” replied Mrs. Merrin. “No, I can’t do 
that.” 

‘<Then what will you do?” said Arthur. “You have just said 
that you don’t know what to do or where to go.” 

“ Well, I don’t,” she answered gloomily, her thoughts reverting 
to her own position and the humiliation she had suffered that 
morning. Then, with a sudden outburst of temper, she exclaimed, 
“ I will make that man beg my pardon for what he has said and 
done, the miserable, contemptible wretch ! I will ! I will tele- 
graph to Mr. Merrin to come on and make him apologize before I 
leave this house ! ” 

Arthur was too much surprised and puzzled at the inconsistency 
of this declaration to make any suggestion. It seemed so incom- 
patible with her just expressed fear of her husband’s anger, and 
the desperate extremity to which she had professed to be reduced, 
h'urthermore, her wrathful use of epithets startled and shocked his 
refined ideas. This was not the speech of a gentle, dependent 
woman, but rather of an independent Amazon. Her readiness to 
fight her own battle bewildered him. 

“ I don’t know, after all, but what telegraphing to Mr. Merrin 
would be the best thing I could do,” continued Mrs. Merrin, after 
a moment’s reflection. “ He will get my message and come on be- 
fore Mr. Soane’s letter reaches him, and I can explain the matter 
my own way. But then,” she added, looking at Arthur with new 
alarm, “ Mrs. Soane told me that that husband of hers was going 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 167 

to report you to the commandant for being out of your room, or 
something. That will spoil everything.” 

“ You need not trouble yourself about that,” said Arthur. “ I 
will see that it goes no further.” 

“ How ? ” said Mrs. Merrin. 

“ Very easily,” he answered, evasively. “ You need not give it 
another thought.” 

“ But how ? ” she insisted, impatiently. “ I want to know.” 

“ Well,” said Arthur, “ I will see Mr. Soane, and if he refuses to 
withhold the report, I will resign.” 

“ Will you ? ” she said, eagerly. “ Will you do that? ” 

“Yes,” said Arthur, with a vague feeling of disappointment that 
she had no thought for him in the matter. “ There is nothing else 
for me to do under the circumstances. I certainly don’t intend to 
permit your name to be talked about if anything I can do will pre- 
vent it.” 

“ I suppose if you should resign that would end it, wouldn’t it ? ” 
she asked. 

“ Certainly,” replied Arthur. 

“ Oh, well,” she said, “ I hope you won’t have to do that, of 
course.” Then, with her chin upon her hands she lost herself in 
thought for a few minutes. But, apparently, the retrospect was 
reassuring, for starting to her feet, she exclaimed, “ Oh, what a 
fool I have been to let myself get into such a scrape ! If there had 
been any reason for it, it would not have been so bad, but to get 
into this trouble just f^r nothing! ” And, with the fickleness of an 
April day, the tears again came into her eyes, and, leaning her 
arms on the mantel-piece she hid her face, and Arthur could see 
from the movements of her shoulders that she was sobbing. All 
his tenderness and manhood again came to the surface at the 
pretty, pathetic sight, and, going to her side, he said, “ Don’t cry, 
my darling, don’t cry. I will do anything in the world that you 
want me to do. Only you won’t let me help you, you won’t accept 
my protection. What else can I do ? ” 

“ Oh, you can’t do anything,” she cried impatiently, raising her 
head and drying her eyes with her handkerchief. “ There is 
nothing to be done except to telegraph Mr. Merrin to come. You 
had better go now, it won’t do for you to stay too long ; and don’t 
come here again unless I send for you.” 

“ Very well,” replied Arthur, in a different voice. “ I will 
attend to that matter of the report. Good-by.” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


1 68 

The change in his voice attracted her attention. “ I hope you 
won’t have to resign/’ she said in a childlike, confidential tone, 
standing in front of him and playing with one of the brass buttons 
on his coat. “ And it is very good of you to offer to take care of 
me,” she continued, looking up into his face. “ You are very kind 
and honorable, and there is not another man living I would trust 
myself with so quickly as with you. And if you can help me, I 
will send for you. You -will come, won’t you ? ” 

“ Will I ? ” he replied, passionately. “ You know I will. If you 
ever want me, I give you my word of honor that I will come to 
you, no matter what happens.” 

“ And, if Mr. Merrin should be very, very angry, and I have no 
one else to go to, will you take me ? ” 

“ You know I will,” he replied, “ only too gladly ! Now, or at 
any time.” 

“ Remember,” she said, disengaging herself from his embrace, 
“ that is a promise. Maybe some day I shall call upon you to 
keep it.” 

“I shall remember,” he answered, and so took his departure, 
actually elated. 

* Arthur afterward had a long interview with Mr. Soane, which 
resulted in that gentleman’s deciding to withhold the threatened 
report, rather than force Arthur to resign ; a determination which 
he characterized as Quixotic, but which, at the same time, he saw 
plainly enough the young man fully intended to carry into execu- 
tion. He contented himself with giving Aryiur much good advice 
and a warning as to his future conduct in this particular. Mr. 
Merrin arrived in response to his wife’s telegram, and as she after- 
ward informed Arthur, espousing her side in the quarrel, carried 
her back to New York in triumph. 

More or less gossip and some scandal ensued as the story 
leaked out, as such stories inevitably do, with sundry additions 
and embellishments ; but after Mrs. Merrin’s departure it was 
gradually forgotten. Arthur’s prompt resentment of any allusion 
to this “ affair,” as evidenced by his quarrel with Hough in the 
smoking-room, helped to consign the matter to oblivion. And it 
was not long after Mrs. Merrin’s departure, before his passion 
followed the same road. For the love that she inspired in him 
owed its existence to her presence. When she was absent there 
was nothing to keep it alive. Mrs. Merrin would not, however, 
permit Arthur to forget her. She was a woman with whom an 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


169 


“ affair was a necessity. To be sure, in the circle in which she 
moved in New York, she found no dearth of these ready to her 
hand, but the selfish attentions of blase men of the world were 
stale and wearisome, compared to the unselfish devotion of the 
young midshipman. Unaware of it, in the lavish abundance of 
his affection, she had grown to like him far more than she knew, 
and now that they were separated, she regretted him. She wrote 
to him more and more frequently, and if his replies were not as 
prompt or as fond as her fancy demanded, she reproached him. 
As time passed and freed him from his illusions, she grew more 
exacting. She reminded him of his promise, and, while exagger- 
ating the effects of the trouble in which he had involved her, she 
magnified the seriousness of the bonds which held him to her. 
His sensitive honor was only too quick to respond to this appeal, 
and he acknowledged the extent of his obligations. His word had 
been given and he had no thought of evading the consequences. 
Mrs. Merrin at first understood this as little as she understood the 
chivalric vagaries of Lancelot, but she was not slow in learning 
the extent of her power and in availing herself of it to the utmost, 
in the furtherance of her caprice. It was very pleasant to control 
this strong man, this favorite of society, with an invisible thread ; 
it gratified her pride as well as her affection. Her meeting with 
Arthur at the ball was the first since their separation. She had 
counted on that meeting to re-awaken in his breast his former 
ardent attachment. But, when she found him with Gertrude, she 
instinctively recognized in her a foe, an embodiment of all that 
was antagonistic to her peculiar influence over Arthur, and she 
promptly, almost insolently, asserted her authority to separate the 
two. At Newport, later on, Mrs. Merrin realized that Arthur’s 
allegiance had wasted away to the formal tie that held him. What 
had been but a capricious, fitful flame, being now fed by jealousy, 
pique, and passion denied, became an all-consuming fire. She 
chose to consider Gertrude as the sole cause of her discomfiture, 
and at Naples Arthur’s increased coldness and restraint irritated 
her to such a degree that her lawless fancy reached a climax, and 
she determined that, cost what it might, she would bring him 
to her feet once more. She comprehended the nature of the 
power that held him from her, and knew very well where to 
undermine it. How cunningly she reasoned was evidenced by the 
result. A few strokes of the pen, and long before she herself 
hoped for any result, she learned that Gertrude was engaged to be 


170 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


married, and to Mr. Yates ! She laughed to herself, again and 
again, at the quick growth of the seed she had planted, and the 
harvest it would yield. Then, writing to Arthur, she bade him 
come to Paris. Events had favored her, and he was here, by her 
side once more. 

Now while martyrs, reformers, and a few other combative peo- 
ple, may live in daily antagonism to the life that surrounds them, 
ordinary mortals insensibly adapt themselves to their environ- 
ments. A life of indulgence accustoms a man to look upon vice 
with composure, just as a life of warfare accustoms a man to 
regard bloodshed with indifference. Arthur understood, well 
enough, that Mrs. Merrin’s continual assertion of her claim upon 
him, and the persistency with which she drew him to her, must 
end in a crisis of some sort, and, from the rapid pace at which 
they were going, that that crisis could not be far off. But he was 
careless, reckless. Their wild noisy life drowned the voice of 
sober reason and he would not pause to listen to it. There was 
no counter force to restrain him. The potent attraction exercised 
by Gertrude was transformed into a power that urged him on. 
Even his honor, strongest and keenest of his innate principles, he 
used as an argument for advancing, rather than receding. He 
told himself that he must observe the sanctity of his promise to 
Mrs. Merrin, no matter what the result ; while, at the same time, 
he knew that there was inconsistency in this reasoning, for 
secretly, his sense of honor condemned him for the part he was 
playing. For instance, he resolutely refused to meet the husband 
of this woman, and when Mr. Merrin visited Paris, he abstained 
from going to the Boulevard Haussmann, that he might not have 
to act the hypocrite. He even carried this feeling so far as to 
refuse invitations to dine at the house. He would not break 
bread or eat salt at the table of the man whom he knew he was 
wronging. Yes, as his French acquaintances said, he was 
eccentric, this young American. The fact was that he had not 
been.trained for this sort of work. 

In every other form ,of amusement that was in vogue in Mrs. 
Merrin’s set, Arthur took part, and not infrequently took the lead. 
As though the devil was helping him, he was wonderfully success- 
ful at the gaming table. As soon as he commenced to play, old 
hands would back his luck. He was young and fresh at the busi- 
ness, and bound to win, they said. And win he did, at a rate that 
surprised every one but himself. He did not care and took his 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


171 

success as a matter of course. Had it not been for these winnings 
at the green table, he would not have been able to keep, for a day, 
his place in this choice circle which scattered money with a reck- 
lessness which always led to one result. Arthur was not surprised 
at Mr. Merrin’s protest against his wife's extravagance ; he only 
wondered how his business could stand the drain. Like all the 
rest, she did not seem to realize the value of money. With her to 
want a thing was to buy it, and she never paid for it unless com- 
pelled to ; she had it charged to her husband. She gambled with 
' avidity, and becoming excited, generally lost, but while she grew 
querulous and angry for the moment, she very quickly forgot her 
ill-luck. Then, to be sure, she did not always pay these “ debts 
of honor.” Arthur first noticed this little idiosyncrasy with 
astonishment ; he even felt disgraced and ashamed for her. But, 
like everything else, in time he became used to it ; though some- 
times she stirred his indifference to angry protest. 

On one occasion, when they were playing ^carte at her own 
tables, Mrs. Merrin lost an unusually large sum to the Comte de 
Carambole. She insisted, with great gravity, on drawing forth a 
little mother-of-pearl' writing desk and proceeding forthwith to 
give M. de Comte her check for the amount. Later in the even- 
ing when she wanted a light for her cigarette, the count ostenta- 
tiously folded this piece of paper into a taper, and, lighting it, 
handed it to her with a profound bow. Perhaps M. de Carambole 
knew that the paper had no value in the bank, and so cleverly 
made capital of it in this other market. But Arthur, an unob- 
served witness of this transaction, angrily speculated as to 
whether the count’s generosity was confined solely to the cancelling 
of this debt. He knew that the gentleman was exceedingly rich, 
and it very soon became evident to him that this style of conduct- 
ing her financial affairs was not uncommon with Mrs. Merrin, and 
that, furthermore, she was spending more money than Mr. 
Merrin or any other one man of his acquaintance could supply. 
Arthur afterward taxed her with receiving loans from her male 
friends, whereupon she, seeing that he deemed this an enormity, 
instantly, with a great show of indignation, denied his charge. 
Then he told her, very decidedly, that as long as he had money, 
she was to come to him when she needed it, and to no one else. 
He could not have told himself why he was so angry over this 
matter even had he questioned himself, which he never did in 
these days. As for Mrs. Merrin, she was very well pleased at be- 


172 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


ing so lectured by Arthur, and while she secretly laughed at the 
idea of his being her banker, she carefully refrained from openly 
offending him again in this particular. She even went so far as to 
borrow small sums of money from him that he might be assured 
of her good faith. She never made any secret of her pecuniary 
embarrassments. “ One is always embarrassed, in Paris,” she 
said, with a shrug of her handsome shoulders. How deeply she 
was involved Arthur did not know. In fact, she, herself, did not 
know, except in a general way by exterior indications, such as the 
behavior of the shopkeepers, or the persistency of the bill col- 
lectors. As time passed, she complained more and more bitterly 
of her husband’s parsimony, his cruelty and abuse, as she called it, 
and not infrequently threw out hints to Arthur of her intention to 
separate from him if he did not prove more complaisant. Some- 
times, on these occasions, she recalled the trouble in which Arthur 
had involved her at the Marine College, and playfully asked him if 
he remembered how he had urged her to leave Mr. Merrin, and 
marry him. 

“ You do not care as much for me, now,” she said, reproach- 
fully. “ But I may have to hold you to your promise yet. Who 
knows ? Mr. Merrin has never been the same to me since that 
affair at Carleton. I think if I had not telegraphed to him, and 
got him to take me home before he received that letter, I should 
have had to accept your offer. I sometimes wish that I had, 
now.” 

“ I am afraid,” said Arthur, lightly, “ that your bon-bon bill 
alone would finish me ; I can’t always expect to be in luck at the 
table.” 

“ There would be no question of bon-bons, if I were your wife,” 
she replied. “ Why, for that matter, I could support myself. I 
did, once, before Mr. Merrin married me. Did you know 
that } ” 

Arthur remembered having heard long ago, in the gossip of 
Carleton, something of the sort, that Mrs. Merrin had been in the 
employ of a down-town dressmaker or milliner, in New York, 
when Merrin, who was a broker in Wall Street, first met her. 

“ I would not expect to live like this with you,” she continued ; 
“ I would not want to. But, as long as Mr. Merrin has got 
money, I am going to enjoy myself. That is what I married him 
for.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


Meantime the pleasant little apartments hired by Beaugarde 
for Arthur and Dudley saw but little of either of them. During 
the first few days, when Arthur commenced absenting himself, 
Dudley expostulated and protested vigorously at being left alone. 
But as this produced no effect other than good-humored retorts 
and rejoinders. Master Curley very naturally started out in quest 
of amusement on his own account. Beaugarde, who had taken a 
fancy to the lad as before narrated, was frequently his companion, 
but as frequently Dudley went off alone. The result was that in a 
few weeks he began to show the signs of his imprudence. He 
coughed at night, arose in the morning pale and tired, and 
altogether looked much worse than when he arrived in Paris. 
Perhaps no more striking illustration of the change effected in 
Arthur’s nature by the last three weeks of dissipation, could be 
found than* in this very matter. Abandoning himself to the 
fascination of the wild, reckless life he was leading, he banished 
from his mind not only all thought of himself and his future, but 
all claims upon himself, all duties and responsibilities. He who 
had been so careful to protect this young and delicate comrade, 
who had been so quick to guard against or detect an unfavorable 
symptom in his illness, failed now entirely to note the serious 
change in Dudley’s condition, or even to be impressed with it 
when it was pointed out. The sense of responsibility in the 
matter annoyed him, and he dismissed the subject from his mind 
with the remark that “ he, Curley, had better not stay in Paris any 
longer.” 

Beaugarde was much more solicitous. He remonstrated with 
Dudley on the way he exposed himself to the cold wind, his 
irregular habits, and general lack of prudence. But he might as 
well have expostulated with the night air which made the boy 
cough. Dudley declared that there was nothing the matter with 
him and offered to fight Beaugarde to prove it. He further 
declared, that if they thought he was going to stay shut up in that 

173 


174 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


room, while Arthur was off having a good time, they were very 
much mistaken. He was quite willing to leave Paris and go to 
the south of France, just as soon as Arthur was willing to go, and 
not before. The fact was, that Dudley had gathered enough from 
Beaugarde’s conversation and Arthur’s behavior, to form a pretty 
correct idea of the sort of life the latter was leading. Moreover, 
he was jealous and fearful of the influence of Mrs. Merrin. As he 
once remarked to Langdon, “ Mrs. Merrin was the only woman 
he ever did hate,” and, now that she had drawn Arthur away 
from him, and, as he believed, was leading him to the devil, his 
hatred was not abated. Dudley did not assume any high moral 
grounds, it was not in his nature. As he himself said, he liked to 
have a good time as well as any fellow. But this affair of 
Arthur’s was a different and much more serious matter. He felt 
that the renewal of his association with Mrs. Merrin was fraught 
with danger, while the gambling and fast living which accom- 
panied it was sure to end in disaster. Even Beaugarde himself no 
longer laughed and shrugged his shoulders, when mentioning 
Arthur’s “ success,” and, if Beaugarde looked grave over the 
matter, it must be growing serious. More than once Dudley 
recalled Arthur’s disinclination to come to Paris, and in the long 
hours of the night, when his cough kept him from sleeping, he 
would blame himself for being the cause of all this trouble, and 
wish that he might get sick enough to force Arthur to “ let go his 
hold.” He was determined, that if he died for it, he would not 
leave Paris without Arthur. One great obstacle in his path was 
Arthur’s reticence. He had never mentioned Mrs. Merrin’s name 
to him or to any one else, so far as he knew, and moreover, never 
spoke of his movements, latterly, and Curley would not force his 
confidence. 

If he did not want to tell him, well, that was all right. He 
would not ask it. He knew Arthur well enough to know that 
even if he did ask him, nothing would be gained by it. 

Nevertheless, he did do violence to his pride on one occasion, 
fruitlessly, as he anticipated. It was one evening, after they had 
been in the city about three weeks. Arthur having returned home 
rather earlier than usual, was sitting in the window, smoking his 
pipe in moody silence. 

“ The doctor says I ought to go south,” said Dudley, “ to Italy, 
or some of those countries. Let’s go. What do you say to 
it?” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 1 75 

“What is the matter?” said Arthur, looking up. “Are you 
worse ? ” 

“Oh, I’m weH enough,” responded Curley, “ only they think I 
would be better off down there. Won’t you go? ’’ 

“ I can’t,” said Arthur, “ but you will. You have no business to 
stay in this cursed place. You are looking paler than when you 
came here.” 

“ Why can’t you go ? ” replied Curley, in the belligerent tone it 
sometimes pleased him to assume. “ When we were in Cher- 
bourg you said you would not stay here more than a week or ten 
days, and it is three weeks to-day.” 

“ I know it,” said Arthur, “ but it is different now. I can’t go.” 

“ Yes, you can,” said Curley, in a contradictory voice, seating 
himself on the bed and hauling off a boot, preparatory to retiring 
for the night. “ We could have lots of fun travelling around 
together, and I am sick of this place, and so are you ; I have 
heard you say so. Why won’t you go ? ” 

“ Because I can’t, I tell you. There is no necessity for my 
going, but you certainly ought to go,” 

“Oh, thunder! I don’t want to go alone,” growled Curley. 
Then, having completed his preparations for going to bed in 
silence, he humorously inquired if he should put out the light. He 
did not want to go to sleep with anything like a coolness between 
himself and Arthur. 

“ You had better not put it out ! ” said the latter. 

“ Why,” said Curley, swaggeringly. “ What will you do ? ” 

“ I shall light it again,” said Arthur. 

“ Oh I ” said Curley. 

Then, having disappeared in his bedroom, he presently called 
out, with a tone of being about to make an important remark, 
“ O Arley.” 

“ What is it ? ” said Arthur. 

“ Good-night.” 

“ Good-night,” said Arthur. 

And that was the end of Curley’s attempt at diplomacy. 

As Arthur sat by the window until late in the night, he heard 
the boy in the next room coughing, hour after hour. It was a 
depressing sound, and Arthur made up his mind that Curley must 
leave Paris. At the same time, he had no thought of going with 
him. He knew that he ought to go, but his conscience, usually so 
sensitive where duty was involved, responded to this demand only 


176 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


with dull irritation. Presently, he fell to wondering when and 
under what circumstances he himself would leave Paris. He 
knew that a change of some sort was not far distant. This life 
that he was following could not last much longer ; this mad pur- 
suit of pleasure with other men’s money and another man’s wdfe, 
must end, and in a way he did not care to contemplate. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


Arthur’s conviction that this mode of existence could not 
last much longer, that something, as he expressed it, “ had got to 
break,” was well founded. 

One day, shortly after his conversation with Dudley, he received 
a message from Mrs. Merrin telling him she desired to see him 
without delay. He found her in a state of great excitement over 
a despatch she had just received from her husband. It seemed 
that her creditors, who had become more and more importunate 
of late, failing to receive any satisfaction from her, had placed 
their bills in the hands of a collector with the legal authority to 
demand an immediate settlement from Mr. Merrin. That gen- 
tleman, appalled by the enormity of the amount, had written an 
angry letter to his wife, demanding an explanation, and declaring 
that the payment of such a sum at the present moment would 
ruin him. Her reply was that of a woman, who, construing the 
marriage relation literally as a contract whereby the man clothes 
and feeds her and supplies her with money, in return for the pos- 
session of her body, deems herself defrauded by his refusal or ina- 
bility to do either or all these things. Refusing any explanation, 
disdaining excuse or palliation, she wrote as the one who was 
suffering an injury, as the one who had the right to be angry and 
indignant. She taunted him with his poverty and ill success, and 
bitterly regretted the position into which he had misled her. 

He answered with a despatch informing her that he was about 
to join her, and that she must be ready to leave Paris on his 
arrival, without a moment’s delay. 

“ I will not do it ! ” she cried, as Arthur, having finished read- 
ing the message, handed it back to her. “ I will not go with him ! 
It was stupid enough when he had plenty of money. Now, if he 
is as poor as he says he is, I won’t go with him. If I have got to 
be poor, I will, at least, be independent, and I won’t leave Paris 
with him.” 

' “ But what will you do.? ” said Arthur. 

177 


12 


178 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ I don’t know, and I don’t care ! ” she answered violently. 
“Only I won’t go with him.” 

“Do you think that Mr. Merrin will pay your debts?” said 
Arthur, by way of saying something, as one keeps moving on dan- 
gerous ground. 

“I don’t know,” she repeated, sullenly. “He told me in his 
letter that he had been losing money lately and that he could not 
pay them. I don’t know whether it is true or not. At any rate, 
he has no business to lose money. These wretched people here, 
these shopkeepers, have been worrying my soul out for the last 
month, threatening to seize my things. They are watching me 
all the time, and if Mr. Merrin expects to get away without paying 
them, he will have a nice time doing it. I won’t run away like a 
thief — not with him, at any rate.” 

She paused for a few minutes, and as Arthur remained silent, 
she suddenly changed her defiant tone to one of pathos and 
humility, and said, “ Do you know, Arthur, I wish I had gone 
with you, when you asked me at Carleton. I never really cared 
for Mr. Merrin, and I don’t see why I did not do as you wanted 
me to.” Then, as Arthur still made no reply, she came closer to 
him, and, laying her hands upon his shoulder, looked him in the 
eyes, and said, “ You are the only one in the world I have to help 
me. I will never go back to Mr. Merrin, I have made up my 
mind to that. You promised me once, that if ever I should need 
you, you would come to me, and that, if I ever should make up 
my mind to leave Mr. Merrin, you would take me. Do you 
remember ? ” 

“ Yes,” he said. 

“ Will you keep your promise ? ” 

“ I always keep my promise,” he replied, without hesitation, 
though he grew a little pale and drew a long breath as he 
spoke. 

It was a strange acceding to a strange proposal. She felt the 
coldness of his response and it angered her, although she would 
not resent it, or demand more at the moment than was granted. 
She tried to gloss it over with sentiment, and going close to his 
side, with a childlike, confiding manner, she said, “Will you 
really ? Will you take me ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Arthur, but without increased warmth in his 
reply. “Fortunately, I have some money, and very few prepara- 
tions to make, beyond resigning my commission.’’ 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 1 79 

“ Oh, you need not worry about money,” she said, impatiently, 
passing by his remark about resigning. 

“ When will Mr. Merrin be here ? ” he asked. 

“ To-morrow night,” she replied, “and that is the night of the 
ball at Madame de Brouille’s. But I am going just the same,” 
she added, reflectively. Then, with sudden recollection, she con- 
tinued, “ That is one of the things I wanted to see you about.” 
Remaining silent for a while, apparently in deep thought, she 
finally looked up as though arrived at a decision and said, “ I want 
you to be there without fail. How shall I know you ? What will 
you wear ? ” 

“ A domino, most probably,” he answered. 

“ Yes, but what kind of a domino.? However,” she said, look- 
ing at her watch, “ you can arrange all that to-morrow, and let 
me know without fail. Fix it so that I shan’t have any difficulty 
in recognizing you — it may be very important. And now you 
must go, because I have an engagement.” 

Giving him her hand, she drew still closer to his side and said, 
“ Would you be glad to have me for your wife, or would you be 
sorry ? ” 

As she nestled against him, her head leaning upon his shoulder, 
her words awoke a new emotion in Arthur's breast. For the first 
time a woman gave herself over to him. The thought stirred his 
manhood, and the knowledge that it was a lawless compact, that 
the world’s face would be averted from her, but added to his feel- 
ing of strength and power to uphold her in defiance of the world. 
At this time life seemed to hold forth but little promise to him, 
and he was in an aggressive, combative humor, ripe for a quarrel 
with the world. This woman upon his breast was at odds with 
her kind, and he would take sides with her and -fight her battle ; 
and with the resolve a sense of infinite power and a consequent 
tenderness for her filled his soul. Whatever else she was, she 
was a woman, and her very weakness and waywardness but 
appealed to his generosity and added to his self-confidence and 
strength. When he finally answered she could detect but little 
passion in his reply ; he spoke rather as a strong man might speak 
to a capricious child whom he has raised in his arms. “ I don’t 
think I shall be sorry,” he said. She wondered that there was so 
little warmth in his manner or tones, and was at a loss to under- 
stand it ; it was different from her usual experience with men. 
but she detected the touch of tenderness, and was satisfied 


i8o 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


for the moment. “ Go, now,” she said in a whisper. “ Good- 
night.” 

As Arthur left the house, his brain confused, all his senses in a 
turmoil, a cab drove rapidly up to the sidewalk and stopped. He 
paused and looked back with a suspicious curiosity in every 
trifling event which his present condition engendered. The 
driver opened the carriage door and the Comte de Carambole 
alighted and passed rapidly up the steps. In an instant a novel 
sensation of jealous anger flamed up in Arthur’s heart. Had this 
woman, who had given herself into his protection, sent for this 
man ? He turned and was about to follow the count up the 
stairs, v*'hen as suddenly he checked himself. “ It is a little too 
soon for that,” he exclaimed. “ But after this—” and a short 
laugh that was not pleasant, but very significant, finished the 
sentence. 

Turning away again, he walked rapidily without heeding the 
direction he took, his brain busily at work trying to understand 
this strange position in which he found himself. He might as well 
have tried to analyze a drop of the Seine, by whose waters he 
finally paused, and learn from it the secret mysteries of its com- 
ponent parts, the mysteries with which vice and crime had 
impregnated it, secrets soaked out of the dead bodies of suicides 
and murdered men. Any one of his motives taken singly and 
held to the light could be made to appear like a drop of this Seine 
water, transparent and pure ; but, restored to the turbid river of 
his mind, it took on the dark and threatening hue of the guilty 
stream. 

At last a street guard, crossing the bridge, on the parapet of 
which he was leaning, stopped and eyed him suspiciously, where- 
upon Arthur aroused himself and went home, with the burden of 
his thoughts unlightened. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


Mentally and physically worn out, Arthur ascended the 
staircase leading to his rooms. On the landing in front of his 
door he was startled by the appearance of his cousin, Beaugarde, 
standing with his finger on his lips, and making other gestures of 
silence. 

“ What is it ? ” exclaimed Arthur, prepared by the strange 
events through which he was passing, to hear something startling. 

“ Our friend is very sick,” said Beaugarde, in a whisper. 
“ S’st ! ” he continued, as Arthur was about to enter the room, “ he 
is asleep, and must not be disturbed.” 

“ But why ? What is the matter ? ” said Arthur impatiently. 

“ He has had the hemorrhage of the lungs,” whispered Beau- 
garde, shaking his head. 

“ Is he in danger? ” said Arthur. 

“ Jfa foi! Yes, without doubt,” answered Beaugarde, with a 
shrug of his shoulders, and a wave of his hand. 

“ But I don’t understand,” said Arthur, with an inclination to 
become angry with Beaugarde, with himself, with everybody. “ I 
don’t understand. What is it ? ” 

“ What is it ? ” replied Beaugarde, somewhat sternly. “ Do I 
not tell you what it is ? And more I will tell you it is the fortu- 
nate circumstance that I was passing the house at the time. I 
perceived the light in his window, and said to myself that I would 
make an engagement for the country, to-morrow, and so came up 
the stairs ! My faith ! I thought he was dead, that poor child ! 
He lay there so white, with the blood on his pillow ! ” And Beau- 
garde rolled a cigarette with a little shudder. “ And he was all 
alone, my good friend, he was all alone. He might have died, and 
no one would have known ! This should not be.” 

Arthur frowned at this rebuke, and a retort sprang to his lips, 
but he suppressed his anger, and remained silent, struggling with 
an increasing alarm and uncertainty. 

“ Has the doctor been here ? ” he finally asked. 

i8i 


i 82 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ Yes,” said Beaugarde, “ he said he would return. I thought 
it was he when you arrived.” 

Another silence followed, and was broken presently by the voice 
of some one speaking to the porter, and then the doctor mounted 
the stairs, and was briefly introduced by Beaugarde to Arthur. 

“ Is my friend in any danger, monsieur } ” said the latter. 

“ Danger } Yes,” said the physician, “ but how great I cannot 
at this moment say.” 

Just then Dudley’s voice was heard calling weakly from the 
bedroom, “ Arley ! ” And Arthur, followed by the doctor, was 
quickly at his side. Dudley was lying on the bed, looking very 
white, and with dark circles under his eyes. As Arthur entered, 
he turned his head, and, with a faint attempt at his usual light- 
hearted tone, he said, “ Hello !” 

“How do you feel, Curley.?” asked Arthur, awed by his 
appearance. 

“ Bully ! ” replied the boy, with a feeble smile. “ I am all right ! ” 

“ All ride, hey ! ” said the old doctor, with a cheery smile. 
“ Cest bie7i!" Turning to Arthur, he continued, in French, “he 
says that he is better, is it not so .? Undoubtedly the hemorrhage 
has relieved him. Tell him that he must not talk,” he continued, 
quieting the lad by a gesture. “ He must remain tranquil. Come, 
let us go into the other room. He is getting along very well, but 
he must not move nor talk.” 

Leading Arthur to the window in the front room, the old gen- 
tleman ignored his questions until he had gathered all the 
information possible about his patient, and especially of the 
sickness following his fall overboard, of which Beaugarde had told 
him somewhat. Then he informed Arthur that Dudley’s condi- 
tion was precarious, that both of his lungs were seriously affected, 
and that he might have another hemorrhage that would carry him 
off at any moment. On the other hand, he said, it was quite 
possible that Dudley might recover ; but, to render this possible, 
the strictest vigilance and prudence must be observed. 

“ 1 see,” concluded the doctor, elevating his brows, “ that your 
friend is impatient of nursing. He is careless. If he does not 
feel a pain, he believes himself well. So everything will depend 
upon you, my dear sir. He is a child, and he must not be trusted 
alone. In the mean time, all that we can do is to build up his 
strength, and start him away from here. Paris is not the place 
for him. If you are not at liberty to remain with him,” added the 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


183 

doctor, as he prepared to accompany Beaugarde, “ I will make 
arrangements to send you a nurse, for I do not think it wise to 
leave him by himself. Do you understand ? I have kept our 
friend, M. le Comte, here all the evening for that reason. You 
will stay ? Very good. But, remember, he is not to be left alone, 
and is to remain perfectly quiet.” 

Arthur, very grave and serious, declared that he would answer 
for it, and promptly quieting Curley s protest against the whole 
proceeding, made his arrangements to sit up through the rest of 
the night. 

In its disturbed condition his mind foreboded evil, anticipated 
disaster, but he had had no thought of its falling here. He 
expected it to alight on his own shoulders, and was willing 
enough to take to himself any blows that Fortune might deal him ; 
but he did not intend that they should strike an innocent victim. 
With perfect self-confidence he determined that Curley should get 
well, and he passed the night with every sense on the alert for the 
slightest change in his patient’s condition. During this long, 
silent vigil his thoughts found plenty to occupy them in consider- 
ing the possibilities of the next few days. Although there were 
many things of which he refused to think ; of his moral obliga- 
tions to society, outraged ; of his own honorable career, broken 
and cast aside, and above all else the effect his crime would have 
on those who loved him. Of these things he desperately refused 
to think. And when the rumble of the market carts resounded in 
the early morning streets, and Paris, like a slothful monster, began 
to stir before fully awakening, Arthur’s determination was still 
unshaken. 

“ It seems to me,” his father had once said to him, “ it seems to 
me that you don’t appreciate that somewhat trite saying that life 
is a serious business. That you are in fact inclined to be careless, 
even reckless, of your prospects. Don’t you think this is a weak- 
ness ? I know that youth is apt to consider the future boundless 
and discount it with a royal disregard of the expense, but the 
evidence of real manhood is a fixed resolve, a steadfast purpose 
which refuses to be led aside by each temptation that appears in 
its onward path.” 

Which advice was excellent, but of as little avail as most advice is. 
One sigh from his father’s breast, one tear from his mother’s eye, 
would have done more to awaken Arthur’s dormant better self, 
than all the moral principles and shrewd axioms ever formulated. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


Morning came at last, and with it the doctor. Pronouncing 
Dudley’s condition to be no worse, he commended Arthur’s care, 
and cautioned him to continue his watchfulness ; declaring, that 
as long as the patient grew no worse, he might be said to be im- 
proving. 

Later in the day Beaugarde appeared, accompanied, greatly to 
Arthur’s surprise, by Langdon. This dark-complexioned disciple 
of modern indifferentism sauntered in as though he had been liv- 
ing next door, and greeting Arthur in a commonplace fashion, 
said, “ How is Curley ? ” 

“ He is better,” replied Arthur. “ But what wind has blown 
you here ? ” 

“ My father had some business in London, so I came across 
with him. We came over on the same steamer as your aunt and 
cousin.” 

“ The deuce you did ! ” said Arthur. “ Where are they ? in 
London ? ” 

“ No,” said Langdon, “ they are here. They are staying with 
the Countess de Beaugarde. That is the way I happened to find 
you. Your French cousin here showed me the way.” 

“ Well, upon my word,” said Arthur, “ I think they might at 
least have let me known they were coming.” 

“ They did not know you were here till yesterday, at least I 
don’t think they did. This gentleman here spun them a long yarn 
about your devotion to your friend, and how you had not left his 
bedside for a week, so you could not be expected to meet them if 
you had known. It is all right. Is Curley really very sick.^” 

“Yes,” said Arthur; “he has had a bad hemorrhage. He is 
asleep now.” 

“ I won’t disturb him,” said Langdon. “ By the way, that was 
a neat thing you did in jumping overboard after him. I hap- 
pened to be in Washington at the time we got the news, and all 
your people were immensely pleased.” 

184 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ How was the family ? ” said Arthur. “ All well ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Langdon, “ they are all looking very well, espe- 
cially your sister. She and Miss Alden have made quite a sensa- 
tion in society this winter. Of course you know about Miss 
Alden’s engagement ? ” 

Arthur nodded. 

“ He is a mighty lucky fellow,” said Langdon. “ It is surpris- 
ing how men like that always do carry off the brightest and 
prettiest girls. She has not been looking very well lately, though 
I think this trip is doing her good.” 

“ Well, I suppose I ought to go and call on them,” said Arthur, 
rather unwillingly, his thoughts busy with the new plans he had 
been forming. 

“ Well, I suppose it would be the proper thing,” said Langdon, 
with a smile. “ Can't I stand your watch for you here ? ” 

“ Oh, thank you, no,' said Arthur. “ Beaugarde will do that.” 

That gentleman, who had withdrawn to a little distance during 
this conversation, which had been carried on in English, arose as 
he heard his name, and came forward with an inquiring, “ Com- 
7nent ? ” 

“You will stay with the young one while I go and pay my 
respects to my aunt, won't you } ” said Arthur. 

“ Why not } ” replied Beaugarde. “ As for me, I have had the 
honor to call upon madame, your aunt. Ah ! she is divine ! ” 

“ Who.^ ” said Arthur. “ My aunt } ” 

Beaugarde shrugged his shoulders. “ If you will,” he said. 
“But it was of the younger lady that I spoke. Mon Dieul 
What eyes ! And what hair ! Like the Madonna in the Louvre ! 
Ah, she is divine ! Pardon me if I rave of her. When she speaks 
it is like the music of the organ that my good mother plays in the 
twilight. It makes one wish that he was better.” And Beau- 
garde made a comical face at the impossibility of such a change, 
so far as he was concerned. 

“ When will you go } ” he continued. 

“ Some time this afternoon,” said Arthur, “ whenever it is con- 
venient for you.” 

He was not anxious to make the visit. On the contrary, he 
would fain have shirked the duty altogether. Gertrude's coming 
at this time, disarranged his ideas. Having made up his mind to 
his sacrifice he disliked renewing former associations. He was 
even annoyed at Langdon's presence. The latter's ordinary 


i86 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


manner, assuming that life was flowing smoothly in its proper 
channels, when he, Arthur, was on the verge of a cataract, was 
irritating. The night’s reflection and decision had left him with 
the feeling that he had cut loose all ties, that he had abandoned 
himself to fate; and he resented the necessity of renewing his 
former existence, as a half-drowned man is said to resent being 
brought back to life. 

“ How long will you be here, Duke ? ” Arthur asked, in a pause 
of the conversation. 

“ I don’t know, a week or ten days, perhaps. It depends upon 
how long the governor is occupied in London. Then we are to 
do the continent. By the way, I met Merrin coming across the 
channel. He looks all broken up. I fancy from what he says he 
has been losing a good deal of money lately.” 

“Yes.?” said Arthur, inquiringly, but with faint show of 
interest. 

“ I suppose you have met Mrs. Merrin since you have been 
here,” continued Langdon, cutting the end of a cigar with nicety. 
“ I see you allow smoking. They say she has spent a fortune this 
winter. We have been hearing all sorts of stories of the sensation 
she has been creating.” 

“ Yes ? ” said Arthur, again. “ I don’t know, I am sure. I 
don’t pay much attention to gossip, myself.” 

Langdon’s face reddened a little at this, while Beaugarde gently 
rolled another cigarette in the pause that followed. 

“ In this case it is hardly what one would call ‘ gossip,’ ” said 
Langdon. “ I am sorry for Merrin.” 

To which Arthur made no reply. Again the secret possibilities 
of the future rendered this condemnation distasteful, and it 
angered him. At the same time he felt that he must seem unrea- 
sonable and inhospitable. A movement in the invalid’s room 
gave him a pretext for excusing himself. He presently reap- 
peared, and, telling Langdon that Dudley would like to see him, 
he showed him into the room, and resumed his seat by the window 
in silence. 

Beaugarde, taking up his hat, said, “Well, I have an appoint- 
ment for which I am a little late. I thought I would bring your 
friend to you first.’’ 

“You are very kind,” said Arthur. 

“ It is nothing,” said Beaugarde. “ What time shall I come to 
take care of our patient ? ” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


187 


“Any hour will suit me,” said Arthur. 

“ Some time in the evening ? Yes ? ” 

“Yes,” said Arthur. 

“Very well, then.” Putting his head in at the bedroom door, 
he asked Dudley how he was getting on ; and making an engage- 
ment with Langdon for dinner, Beaugarde took his leave. 

The warm summer afternoon, the low voices in the next room, 
and the long vigil of the past night, made Arthur drowsy, and, 
after sundry unsuccessful efforts to keep his pipe alight, he fell 
asleep. 

Dudley, on discovering this fact through the half open door, 
explained to Langdon Arthur’s sacrifice of his rest the night 
before, and persisted in talking in a whisper, so that Langdon 
soon made a noiseless departure. At the foot of the stairs he 
very nearly collided with a porter, who, in a noisy pair of boots, 
was about to ascend. 

“ Whom do you wish to see ? ” said Langdon, stopping him. 

“ M. Arlingford,” replied the man, touching his cap. “ I am to 
deliver this note.” 

“ Give it to me,” said Langdon. “ M. Arlingford has been up 
all night with a sick friend, and is now asleep. I will see that he 
gets it.” 

The man hesitated. “ There is no answer, is there ? ” said 
Langdon, impatiently. 

“ No, monsieur, no, but I was told to deliver it to M. Arling- 
ford.” 

“ But that is all right, I tell you,” said Langdon, taking the note, 
and slipping a franc into the porter’s hand. “ He shall have it as 
soon as he wakes.” 

Returning upstairs, Langdon softly entered the front room, 
and, nodding to Dudley through the open door, motioned toward 
Arthur, and placed the note on the table. 

Except for the dim light shed by a street lamp on the opposite 
side of the way, the room was dark when Arthur awoke. As he 
arose to light the gas, Dudley called out to him, “ There is a note 
for you on the table ; it came while you were asleep.” 

He found the note, and as he took it up and recognized the 
writing, his heart gave a throb ; to-night was the night of the mas- 
querade ball. In the distraction of Dudley’s illness and his own 
sleepiness, he had completely forgotten it, and had failed to send 
word to Mrs. Merrin what his disguise was to be. Not only that. 


i88 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


but he had neglected making arrangements for some one to stay 
with Dudley during his absence. It was with a muttered oath 
that he tore open the note, as these thoughts flashed through his 
mind. 

“ Why do you not send me some word about to-night ? M has arrived 

Do not fail me. L.” 

“ What time did this letter come ? ” asked Arthur. 

“ Oh, two or three hours ago,” said Dudley. 

“Why the devil didn’t you wake me up? ” demanded Arthur, 
impatiently. 

“Because I did not want to,” Dudley answered, amiably. 
“ Besides I could not if I had. I tried to get up for a drink of 
water, and had to think better of it.” 

“You had no business to try,” said Arthur, unreasonably, get- 
ting him the water. “ It shows how much you are to be trusted. 
You might have brought on another hemorrhage.” Whereat 
Dudley looked at him oddly. 

Consulting his watch with great irritation, Arthur found it was 
after eight o’clock. Rapidly revolving the matter in his mind, he 
decided that the first thing to be done was to send a message to 
Mrs. Merrin, excusing his remissness. He would send and get a 
domino immediately. He could certainly procure a messenger 
from the around the corner. The note might miscarry into 
the hands of the husband, but he must risk that. Then, suddenly, 
he remembered that he could not leave Dudley. How stupid he 
was not to have thought of all this before ! But, stop ! There 
was Beaugarde. He had promised to return for the purpose of 
permitting him to visit his aunt. That would do capitally. He 
would get him to remain. 

“ Beaugarde has not been here again, has he ? ” he asked. 

“No,” said Dudley. Then, noticing Arthur’s perplexity, he 
said, “ See here, it must be late. Go and get your dinner, and go 
wherever you want to. Don’t bother about me.” 

“ Poor old. fellow,” said Arthur, really thinking of him for the 
first time. “ You must have been very tired of lying there in the 
dark all this time, and half starved, too.” 

“ Oh, pshaw ! ” responded Dudley, cheerily, “ I am all right , 
you go and get your dinner.” 

“ I will order it sent up for us both,” said Arthur. “ You won’t 
move, will you ? ” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


189 


“ No,” said Dudley. “ I won’t move — unless I want to.’’ 

Hastily writing a few lines to Mrs. Merrin, explaining as best 
he could his neglect, and describing his costume, he hurried to 
the restaurant, and succeeded in obtaining a messenger. The 
note despatched, he ordered dinner, and returning to his room, 
walked up and down in deep thought. Supposing that Beaugarde 
failed to come, what should he do ? Beaugarde was late now, 
but he might have been unexpectedly detained somewhere ; he 
would certainly come some time during the evening, even if only 
to explain. Satisfying himself for the moment with this prospect, 
he prepared Dudley’s meal, and then having hurriedly finished his 
own dinner, he sat down by the window with his pipe, and 
waited. 

It is trying enough for one to await a tardy arrival under any 
circumstances, but with so much depending upon the relief he 
expected, and the doubtfulness of its arriving at all, Arthur very 
soon found himself striding up and down the room again in a fever 
of anxiety. Ten o’clock came, and with it no Beaugarde. Surely 
Curley was well enough to be left alone for a few hours, and 
Arthur turned to ask him, when the certainty of what the unself- 
ish reply would be, and the foolishness of consulting him after all 
the doctor’s warning, made him hesitate. If he could only get a 
message to Beaugarde, or even to Langdon ! Either one of them 
would be willing to help him out of his difficulty. But where to 
find them ? At all events he would send around to Beaugarde’s 
rooms and inquire of his servant. Looking in at Dudley and find- 
ing him asleep, Arthur put on his hat, and opened the door. As 
he did so, he heard some one ascending the stairs. “There’s 
Beaugarde, now ! ” he said to himself, with intense satisfaction. 

But, instead, it was that gentleman’s valet bearing a note, which, 
he confessed with many humble apologies, had been given him to 
deliver several hours ago. In it, Beaugarde, with deep regret, 
remembered an engagement for the evening which would prevent 
him from coming to sit with Dudley. There were ladies in the 
case, otherwise it should not have interfered. He hoped that 
Arthur would not be inconvenienced especially, as he learned from 
M. Langdon that madame, Arthur’s aunt, and the beautiful Mad- 
emoiselle Alden, would spend the evening out. 

“ Damnation ! ” exclaimed Arthur. “ Everything seems to work 
against me.’’ 

“ Monsieur? ” said the valet, inquiringly. 


190 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ Do you know of any reliable person I can get to remain 
to-night with a sick gentleman?” said Arthur. 

No, the valet did not know of any such person, and if he did, he 
was too anxious to get back to his wine and his game of dominoes 
to acknowledge it. Resource after resource suggested itself to 
Arthur’s mind, until the absurd impotency of his position struck 
him forcibly. He stared helplessly at the man who had brought 
him the note, and the man solemnly regarded him in return. The 
idea that this fellow might stay with Dudley if he was well paid, 
occurred to Arthur ; but the certainty of his passing the time at 
the nearest wine shop, as well as the impropriety of keeping Beau- 
garde’s servant, extinguished the gleam of hope. Then, dismiss- 
ing the man, Arthur grew rebellious. He must, he would go ! 
It was shameful to think that now there was risk, danger perhaps, 
he should fail Mrs. Merrin in this appointment. It must be of 
urgent importance, else why should she lay such stress upon it. 
What would she think ? What could she think, but that he was 
sneaking out of the position he had assumed, now that her hus- 
band had arrived, and that he was afraid ? It was intolerable. 
The thought that she was perhaps at this moment with the Count 
de Carambole added fuel to his anger at being placed in such a 
predicament. He hated the man, and the thought of her perfect 
form in some one of her pretty costumes, moving in the waltz 
with him, while he was tied to this room, was not wanting to 
stimulate his mutinous anger. 

Finally he determined that he would go, at all hazards! Dudley 
was asleep and would probably remain so until he returned. 
Surely there was no reason why he should not go out for a couple 
of hours. The doctor himself could not expect him to remain in 
the room day and night without some fresh air and exercise. He 
was silly and nervous to worry so much about it. 

This resolution once taken, he proceeded rapidly with his toilet. 
When twelve o’clock struck, he stood in the middle of the room 
with his hat in his hand, and his overcoat on his arm, about to 
turn down the gas. But in the act, his mind, which, despite the 
apparently decisive action he was taking, had continued to busy 
itself with the various aspects of the subject all the time he was 
dressing, suggested, “ What if Curley should have another hem- 
orrhage while you are away, and no one here to help him ? He 
would die. The doctor said that there was the danger. What if 
you should return to find him dead? ” Then Arthur’s heart failed 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


I91 

him and his resolution was shaken. He found himself engaged in 
an imaginary conversation with the doctor, trying to palliate his 
conduct in deserting his patient to go to a ball, and the doctor 
was holding him responsible for his friend’s death. And he, he 
could not even tell why he had left him, because it involved a 
woman’s name. And with Curley’s dead face before him, and the 
world pointing a finger of scorn at him as the man who had let his 
friend die that he might dance, the perspiration started to his fore- 
head and left him a prey to all his former indecision. Perhaps, 
after all, he could see Mrs. Merrin in the morning just as well. A 
few hours could make no difference. As soon as the doctor 
came he would ask him to send a professional nurse. He was a 
fool not to have done that in the first place. Beaugarde was cer- 
tain to be at the ball, and he would tell Mrs. Merrin how he was 
situated. 

So, with his resolution tossed like a shuttle-cock between the 
battledores of conscience and desire, Arthur finally found himself 
standing by Dudley’s bedside with the vague idea of discerning 
from his face whether it would be safe to leave him. 

The lad was lying on his side, with his delicate white hands 
clasped under his cheek. He was very pale, while the hollows in 
his temples were scarcely concealed by the damp clusters of his 
brown hair, and the long, dark lashes were lost in the darker 
shadows under his eyes. The evidences of great exhaustion were 
plain enough, now that the spirit which ordinarily disguised them 
was asleep. Despite the fact that Arthur had hardened his heart 
to everything that barred his headlong course, he was touched by 
the appearance which his young comrade presented. Always 
handsome, almost effeminately so, the boy’s face, as he lay there 
asleep, had an added, spiritual beauty, but it was awfully sugges- 
tive of death. This was so impressive to the most casual glance, 
that Arthur, sitting down by his side, leaned over to listen to his 
breathing. He did not arise immediately ; he was tired without 
knowing it, and nature took advantage of this rest. His thoughts 
escaped from the purpose to which they had been so long held, 
and drifted away. Yielding to the pleasant, dreamy feeling for a 
moment, his memory took him back to the old life when he and 
Curley had been at the Marine College together. What a long 
friendship was theirs, and how self-sacrificing and loyal to it the 
boy had been I Ever since that day, more than five years ago, 
when he, Arthur, had taken the part of the little fellow, and had 


192 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


won that notable fight in his cause Curley’s devotion had never 
wavered. It was so entire, so self-forgetful, it was like a woman’s 
love. Then, with it all, how plucky he was, how frank and 
honest ! Surely there never had been such bright, mischievous 
humor, such unfailing good-nature under the most trying circum- 
stances, together with such utter disregard of himself and his own 
comfort and interests, as he had displayed. No wonder that every 
one was fond of him, and all these traits he had subordinated to 
his friendship for Arthur. His exceeding modesty, veiled by an 
assumption of boundless assurance, together with his great affec- 
tion, made him hold all his own good qualities and achievements as 
nothing, compared to Arthur’s mental endowments and feats of 
skill and strength. As incident after incident illustrating this, 
arose in Arthur’s mind, he felt all his former great tenderness for 
the lad welling up once more into his heart. As he sat there and 
looked at the delicate white face bereft of its spirit by the hand of 
sleep, he thought, with sudden regret, how easily he might lose 
this friend, and with the thought, for the first time in his active 
life, he realized the beauty of his character, and how completely 
all that he had had to give had been given to him, and how care- 
lessly he had treated the gift. Gertrude had appreciated Dudley 
the moment she had met him. Somehow, Curley always re- 
minded him of Gertrude. They looked enough alike to be 
brother and sister. He had once overheard Gertrude say to him, 
“ I wish you were my brother.” 

Farther and farther Arthur’s thoughts drifted back, until finally 
he became entirely lost to his surroundings. 

The stroke of a distant bell sounded solemnly on the night air. 
He started, and looked at his watch. It was one o’clock. In- 
stantly the present, like the waters of the Red Sea, rushed over 
the narrow causeway of his memory, and, separating him from the 
Past, left him struggling in the waves of the moment. 

It was very late, but there was yet time to go. He must decide 
instantly. His brain whirled and his nerves were strung to a 
painful tension. For a moment he stood wavering, with his eyes 
fixed on Dudley’s white face. Then suddenly breaking the silence 
of the room with an oath at his entanglement, he threw aside his 
overcoat and hat, and sat down by the open window. He would 
go around to see Mrs. Merrin the first thing in the morning ; but 
as for to-night — he would stay with the boy. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


The day was just breaking when Arthur was aroused from a 
heavy slumber by Dudley’s voice. 

“ What’s the matter, Curley ? ” he asked. ‘‘ Do you want me ? ” 

“ There is somebody knocking at the door,” said Dudley. As 
Arthur listened, the low summons was repeated. Slipping on his 
clothes, he went into the front room and opened the door. A 
man was standing in the twilight of the entry. In answer to 
Arthur’s demand, he came forward, saying, “ It is I, Langdon. 
Hush,” he continued, “ I did not want to wake Curley. Can I 
speak to you a moment ? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Arthur, in some surprise. “ Come in. Curley 
is awake.” 

Drawing up the blind, and letting in the gray dawn, Arthur saw 
that Langdon had on his evening costume under his overcoat, and 
that he had evidently not been to bed that night. He looked very 
grave, and at the same time seemed somewhat relieved at sight of 
Arthur. 

“ What can I do for you, Duke.? ” said Arthur, looking curiously 
at him, and wondering whether he was indebted to champagne for 
this unusual visit. 

“ Well,” said Langdon, as though in reply to Arthur’s thoughts, 
and not without a certain embarrassment, “ this is rather an early 
hour to rouse you out, but the fact of the matter is there has been 
the deuce to pay at Merrin’s house, and I thought may be you 
might be of use.” 

“ Why,” exclaimed Arthur, somewhat startled. “ What is the 
matter ? ” 

“ Merrin’s wife has left him,” said Langdon, “ and the poor 
fellow is all broke up ; and he asked me if I would not bring him 
around to see you, knowing that I was a friend of yours.” 

As Langdon paused and looked anxiously at him, Arthur said 
slowly, emphasizing each word, “ You say that Mrs. Merrin has 
left her husband .? ” 

13 


193 


194 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Langdon nodded. 

Taken thoroughly by surprise, Arthur was silent for a moment, 
busy with the thoughts which this news aroused. Then suddenly 
it flashed across his mind, “ She has gone, and will send for me 
to meet her ! " and he instantly put himself on his guard. 

“ I don’t quite understand,” he said. “ Why does Mr. Merrin 
desire to see me ? What have I got to do with it ? Not that I 
have any objection to meeting him.” 

“ Well,” said Langdon, with some constraint, “ it is just this 
way, as far as I can learn. Merrin has seen very little of his wife 
lately. She has been spending her time here in Paris while he has 
been busy in London, consequently nearly all her acquaintances 
are Frenchmen, whom he does not know. You are the only one, 
in fact, whom he feels that he can call on for assistance. He came 
to my rooms at the hotel just after I had got home, in great trouble, 
and told me about it. It seems that he and his wife had gone to 
the masquerade ball at Madame de Brouille’s. He did not want 
to go, because he is in a good deal of anxiety about money matters, 
but she insisted on it. After supper some one took her away to 
dance, and he could not find her again. Finally he went home, 
thinking it possible that she might have returned. But she was 
not there ; and not only that, but her maid was gone, and all her 
clothes and jewelry. So then he went back to Madame de 
Brouille’s ; but nearly every one had left, and his wife was not 
there. From what he told me, I imagine that he and his wife had 
had some words on his arrival in Paris, and that he had reason 
to suspect she might leave him. He has lost nearly all his 
money lately, and now that his wife has left him he has gone all 
to pieces, and is not fit to be trusted alone. I went around to the 
house with him and questioned the porter, and found sure enough 
that Mrs. Merrin had sent away a couple of trunks during the last 
week. I took the liberty of sending a note to your cousin, M. de 
Beaugarde, thinking he could probably help us more than any one. 
Then Merrin suggested that you might be able to advise him, and 
so I brought him around here to see you. He is waiting for us in 
the ca/^ around the corner. You don’t mind seeing him, do you ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” replied Arthur. 

Langdon’s narrative did not veil the fact from him that Mr. 
Merrin suspected him of being the partner of his wife’s flight, and 
that it was principally to discover whether or not he was at home 
that he had paid him this visit. Nor was Arthur surprised at 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


195 


this. The scandal that had coupled his and Mrs. Merrin’s name 
together at the Marine College had been revived among the Ameri- 
cans in Paris during the last month ; and there were, no doubt, 
many lips eager to convey the gossip to Mr. Merrin’s ears and so 
fasten his suspicions on Arthur. At the same time, his first idea, 
that Mrs. Merrin had planned her departure beforehand with the 
intention of sending for him, was strengthened by Langdon’s 
story. With this in view, it afforded him a grim satisfaction 
to meet the husband before proceeding to meet the wife. It 
suited his humor better than running away without confronting 
him. 

“ If you will wait,” he said quietly, “ I will dress myself and be 
with you in a moment.” 

Going into the other room he answered Dudley’s inquiries by 
saying that Langdon had an American friend who had got himself 
into a little trouble. “ He wants me to help him out,” said Arthur. 
“ I am only going as far as the restaurant, and will be back in five 
minutes.” Then rejoining Langdon almost immediately he said, 
“ I am ready.” 

There was a pitilessness in Arthur’s manner which rather dis- 
turbed Langdon’s new-born confidence that he was in no wise 
connected with the business in hand, and it was with a certain 
amount of uneasiness that he brought about this meeting between 
his two friends. 

Arriving at the cafd he led the way through the front room, 
where a frowsy, unwashed waiter was mopping up the floor, then 
through a rear entry, where they ascended a staircase leading to 
some private apartments on the second floor. Asking Arthur to 
wait for a minute on the landing, Langdon entered one of these 
rooms. Arthur heard the low tones of his voice in earnest con- 
versation, and the emphatic replies of the occupant of the room. 
Finally, an agreement seemed to have been reached, for the voices 
ceased, and Langdon, reappearing, said, “ All right, Arlingford, 
come in.” 

Although Arthur had never been introduced to Mr. Merrin, he 
knew him by sight, and had no difficulty in recognizing the blonde, 
stoutly-built man of about thirty-five, who, pale and haggard from 
the night’s adventures, now confronted him. The moment he en- 
tered the room, Mr. Merrin’s eyes fixed themselves eagerly on his 
face. He paid little attention to Langdon’s ceremonious introduc- 
tion beyond bowing his head slightly, but continued to gaze at 


96 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Arthur in such a way as would have soon aroused his resentment 
had not Langdon come to the rescue. 

“ I have told Mr. Arlingford what has happened,” he said, “ and 
he has been kind enough to accompany me here.” 

Mr. Merrin nervously wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, 
and then said, rapidly, “ I am much obliged I am sure. I thought 
perhaps you could tell me something about my wife.” 

“ I cannot,” -said Arthur, coldly. “ I did not know that she 
had left Paris until Mr. Langdon informed me of it a moment 
ago.” 

“ You don’t know where she is ? ” 

“ No,” said Arthur, “ I do not.” 

‘‘ You don’t know where she has gone to } ” 

“ I’ve just told you, no.” 

“ You lie, damn you ! ” exclaimed Mr. Merrin, suddenly abandon- 
ing his self-restraint. “ You do know ! If it was not for you, she 
never would have left me ! ” Then hurling a bit of crumpled 
paper at Arthur’s feet, he cried, “ There’s the note that you sent 
her! Deny it if you can! But I’ll fix you! I’ll get even with 
you ! ” and with the words he put his hand to his hip pocket and 
drew a pistol. 

Before he could cock it, however, Langdon, who had stood just 
behind him, sprang forward and clasping him around the body held 
his arms to his sides, at the same time exclaiming, “Merrin! 
What did you tell me ? Drop that pistol ! ” 

“ Let me go, Langdon ! ” shouted Mr. Merrin, furiously. “ Damn 
you, let me go ! ” 

“ I will, if you drop that pistol.” 

“ Never, by God ! I’ll kill him ! ” 

Then ensued a writhing and straining between the two men as 
they struggled together, their efforts broken by short breaths and 
disjointed oaths. 

It was all so sudden that despite Arthur’s preparation he was 
taken by surprise. Nevertheless, he did not move a muscle. 
Nor did he make any effort to interfere. 

Once, when the combatants upset a table, bearing a water carafe 
and glasses with a crash, some one from below came running up 
to the room, whereupon Arthur locked the door, and put his back 
against it. Finally Langdon, who was no match physically for the 
elder man, in sore distress gasped out angrily, “Why don’t you 
help me, Arlingford ? Help me take the pistol ! ” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. I97 

“No, I won’t ! ” said Arthur shortly. “ Let him have his pistol. 
I am not afraid of him ! ’’ 

With one supreme effort, Mr. Merrin freed himself, and, panting 
for breath, he drew his arm across his dripping forehead, then, 
cocking the pistol, he raised it above his head. 

“ Langdon ! ” cried Arthur, very pale, but all his temper up, “ I 
call you to witness that L came here at your request to see this 
man, and that I am unarmed ! I don’t blame you, but I believe 
that the damned coward got me here deliberately to murder me. 
By God ! I don’t wonder that his wife left him ! ” 

At these words, hurled at him with bitter contempt, Mr. Merrin 
slowly brought his arm down, and stared stupidly at Arthur. The 
unexpected taunt seemed to have struck home. He drew a long, 
sobbing breath, and said, “ No, I don’t want to murder you. Go, 
arm yourself ! But be quick. Do you hear ! ” 

Meantime, Langdon, with his dark face aflame, his dress coat 
torn, his collar hanging loose about his neck, and his whole appear- 
ance bearing evidence of the fierceness of the struggle he had 
made, maintained his place between the two, and when Mr. Merrin 
lowered his arm he suddenly wrested the pistol from his grasp. 

“ Now ! ” he exclaimed, “ I have a word to say about all this ! ” 
Addressing Mr. Merrin he continued, nodding toward Arthur, 
“ He came here at my request, as he says, and you, after promising 
me that there should be no violence, drew a pistol upon him. You 
would have killed him for all I know ! It was a cowardly thing to 
do ! And what is more, I tell you that you have not acted hon- 
estly toward me in this matter ! Do you understand } I hold my- 
self responsible for his safety here. If there is going to be any 
shooting. I’ll have the first hand in it, or I’ll know the reason 
why ! ” 

At this unexpected turn of affairs, Mr. Merrin stared in a dazed 
way, first at one and then at the other. The intense excitement 
which had sustained him through this interview with the man he 
believed to have wronged him was being replaced by exhaustion. 
When he found himself suddenly disarmed and upbraided by his 
only friend, he was completely unmanned. Dropping into a chair, 
he exclaimed. “ That’s right ! I am down, and hav’n’t a friend in 
the world ! Go ahead, in God’s name, and do as you please ! 
Shoot me ! I wish you would ! ” Burying his face in his arms on 
the back of the chair, his broad shoulders shook convulsively, and 
a sob broke the silence of the room. 


198 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Arthur and Langdon looked at each other, and while the former 
was still angry and excited from the danger he had been in, he be- 
gan to experience a feeling of remorse at the sight of that broad 
back shaken by emotion. 

At this moment there was a knock at the door, and Langdon, 
who was standing near, unlocked it, and opening it a little way, 
asked what was wanted. 

“ A gentleman desires to see monsieur,” said the waiter, hand- 
ing in a card. 

“ Ask him please to come up,” said Langdon. And then in a 
low tone to Arthur he added, “ It is your cousin, M. de Beau- 
garde.” 

Going over to where Mr. Merrin sat, Langdon laid his hand 
upon his shoulder, and said, “ Merrin, M. de Beaugarde is coming 
up here and he may have something to tell us. Come, old man, 
brace up.” 

Mr. Merrin raised his head, and with tumbled hair and blood- 
shot eyes, looked at Langdon. Then, as Beaugarde’s step was 
heard on the stair, he arose, and going to the window, stood with 
his back to the room. Langdon, righting the table and arrang- 
ing his own dress, opened the door for the visitor. As Beaugarde 
entered, he glanced rapidly at the occupants of the room, and nod- 
ding to Arthur, he said to Langdon in French, “Can I see you 
alone ? ” 

Langdon in reply stepped into the entry, and the two held a 
murmured conference for a moment, at the end of which Langdon 
returned alone. 

“ Merrin,” he said, “ Mr. Beaugarde has found out that Mrs. 
Merrin left on the midnight train for Dieppe.” 

“ But, by the eternal God he shall never join her ! ” said Merrin, 
sullenly, as he looked at Arthur. 

“ I tell you, Merrin, that you are all wrong,” said Langdon. “ I 
have told you all along that Arlingford had nothing to do wuth the 
matter, and I was right. Mrs. Merrin did not go alone.” 

“ Who went with her, then } ” cried Mr. Merrin, fiercely. 

‘ Quick ! Who is the man ? ” 

And Arthur turned and looked at Langdon with sudden won- 
der. 

“ Mr. Beaugarde says that his name is De Carambole, the Count 
de Carambole.” 

“ The devil ! ” exclaimed Arthur, under his breath. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


99 


Mr. Merrin looked at Langdon confusedly for a moment, and 
finally said, “ Yes ? I have heard of him.” Then with an evident 
effort he began arranging his disordered dress. Finally picking up 
his hat from the floor, he turned to Arthur, and said, “Mr. Arling- 
ford, it seems that I was wrong. I beg your pardon for my suspi- 
cions and for the words I used a moment ago. That note misled 
me. Langdon,” he continued, turning toward that gentleman, “ I 
need not tell you that I am much obliged to you for all that you 
have done. I should like to have you thank the gentleman who 
was just here, this Mr. Beaugarde, for the trouble he has taken, if 
you will. Gentleman, 1 wish you both good-morning.” 

With that, he turned and left the room. 

“ You had better go with him,” said Arthur, nodding toward the 
door. “ He is not fit to go alone.” 

“ I intended to,” said Langdon. Then holding out his hand to 
Arthur, he said, “ I am sorry for what has happened. I had no 
idea of his doing anything of that sort.” 

“ Of course,” said Arthur. “ That’s all right. You had better 
not let him get away by himself.” 

He was strongly solicitous about Mr. Merrin, now. 

Then, as Langdon left the room, Arthur slowly returned to his 
own apartments like a man walking in a dream. His thoughts 
and feelings were in such chaos he could make nothing of them. 
But two emotions there were which seemed to predominate : one 
was sympathy and anxiety for the husband, the other was anger 
and indignation against this villain who had eloped with the wife. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


Arthur’s indignant condemnation of the man who had com- 
mitted the crime which he himself was about to perpetrate, was 
honest in its way. Each man sees his own misdeeds clothed in 
the pretty garments of his own temptations, while the world sees 
them in their repulsive nakedness. Arthur was now a spectator of 
his own crime. In his sight there was nothing pleasing or honor- 
able alDOut De Carambole’s action. There was nothing to palliate 
it : it was simply damnable. It was none the less damnable that 
he had taken his (Arthur’s) place. For, ignore it as he would, 
although he did not love the woman, a certain fierce jealousy came 
cropping up in his breast. A man’s vanity is the first thing that is 
hurt in such “ love affairs.” 

As he thought the matter over Arthur still believed that Mrs. 
Merrin had really intended that he should be the partner of her 
flight. Each incident, from the day that she insisted on his com- 
ing to Paris until now, seemed to indicate that. Probably he was 
right. Without doubt she loved him in a certain way, and threw 
herself on the protection of the Comte de Carambole at the last 
moment only, when Arthur failed her. The count had been an 
ardent suitor, was wealthy, and had watched his opportunity. 
Mrs. Merrin had made up her mind to leave her husband. She 
had married him for position and money ; she had never borne 
him any affection, while the free, dissipated life of this winter in 
Paris, full of careless indulgence and the unlimited admiration of 
many men, made the idea of returning to his side, in the common- 
place role of a poor man’s wife, intolerable. The fact, afterward 
developed, that she had sent away several of her trunks before 
her husband’s arrival, indicated the deliberateness of her purpose. 
It also explained to a certain extent her encouragement of the 
Comte de Carambole. Should Arthur fail her, the count would 
be necessary, — indispensable, in fact. Arthur had failed her, — un- 
wittingly, to be sure, through not understanding her intentions, — 
and, as a consequence, the count became the principal figure of 

200 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


201 


one of the most sensational scandals in which he had ever been in- 
volved, which was saying not a little. Why Mrs. Merrin had not 
reposed more confidence in Arthur was best known to herself. 
Perhaps she did not place much reliance in the power of the 
promise which bound him, and trusted rather to the power of her 
own charms heightened by the accessories of the ball. Or per- 
haps she herself had not decided until the last moment, between 
her fancy for Arthur and the count’s wealth. Either of which 
hypotheses would explain her otherwise inexplicable anxiety that 
Arthur should attend this ball. As it was, she had made him feel 
that she attached unusual importance to this engagement, and he 
was sufficiently impressed to make a desperate effort not to fail 
her. Had he gone to that ball, he probably never would have 
returned. And now, as he looked back and saw the combination 
of trifling circumstances that had resulted in detaining him, he 
was astonished. It seemed as though the hand of Fate had 
reached down, and, ignoring all his troubled reasoning and labored 
conclusions, had set him aside, like a little child, out of harm’s 
way. Was he thankful? He acknowledged to himself that he 
ought to be. And yet he rather resented this interference with 
his own lordly will. He rather resented being thwarted in his 
determination to go to the devil after he had made up his mind to 
it. Then, too, he was very angry with De Carambole. He felt 
as though the man had actually wronged him. He wondered 
whether Merrin would hunt him down, or let him go. If he were 
Merrin, he would — 

But at this point the incongruity of his assuming to mete out 
justice to the delinquents struck him. If he were Merrin, would 
not he be equally justified in “ hunting down ” Arthur Arlingford ? 
Because an accident had thrown him aside just as he was about to 
consummate his schemes, was he the one to sit in judgment on 
the man who had consummated them ? The thought made 
Arthur feel very much like the thing he most hated, — a hypocrite. 
He arose with an impatient exclamation, and walked to and fro. 
As he walked, he began again to think over the events of the past 
hour, — Merrin’s fierce accusation and desperate attempt to kill him 
as the real seducer of his wife ; his grief and despair, apology and 
farewell, as he set forth alone in his search for the man who had 
dishonored him. Somehow the whole scene, as it re-enacted itself 
in Arthur's mind, impressed him differently from what it had 
during its actual performance. As he thought of it now, he grew 


^02 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


disturbed. He began to feel glad that he was where he was, and 
not on that train speeding toward Dieppe. The recollection of 
Merrin striving and struggling with Langdon in his effort to kill 
him, Arthur, caused the perspiration to start out on his forehead, 
and that was more than it had done at the time. He wondered at 
his own coolness. He must have been very angry, and it certainly 
was a cowardly attack, which even the circumstances of the case 
did not warrant. He was glad that Merrin had made it, how- 
ever ; it helped to equalize matters between them. Then, as he 
thought of the words he had hurled at Mr. Merrin in his indigna- 
tion, and the taunt which had stayed his hand, Arthur laughed. 
It was a forced laugh, and was an expression of relief rather than 
merriment. He was glad to be permitted to laugh at all, and so 
he laughed. And it certainly was an absurd thing to say to a 
man under such circumstances. It was rather cruel, too, to 
taunt him with his misfortune. It seemed like an ungentlemanly 
thing to do, even to save his life. He wished that he had 
apologized to Merrin for it. Poor fellow ! how completely 
broken down he had been ! And the recollection of that bowed 
head and that broad back shaken by sobs added a very eloquent 
moral to the story of Arthur’s past month. Yes, he was glad that 
it had turned out as it had. He would certainly have kept his 
promise to Mrs. Merrin, and have abandoned all at her command. 
If he had had any idea of what her plans were, he should never 
have failed her, he told himself. He believed that he had acted 
fairly and honorably by her. But, under the circumstances, he 
was glad that it had turned out as it had. It was a wretched 
business at any rate, and he was well rid of it. He only wished 
that, when Mr. Merrin had apologized to him for his suspicions, 
he had told him the truth. 

Lighting his pipe, — the major’s pipe, — Arthur seated himself 
in the window, and sent a cloud of fragrant smoke floating out 
on the morning air. “ How thankful the father would be if he 
knew ! ” he thought to himself. Then the converse of this prop- 
osition occurred to him. Now that he saw the pain, the grief, the 
disgrace, the tragedy, which had followed on the heels of the act 
he had meditated,— now that he saw the outrage as other people 
saw it, — he was startled, dismayed. What would have been the 
result to his family had he been permitted to elope with Mr. 
Merrin’s wife, he now scarcely cared to think. After all, had he 
been right in his view of the matter ? Had not honor pointed the 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


203 


Other way ? Had not the Devil gotten into him, and twisted and 
warped his judgment and sentiments so as to urge him on ? 
Perhaps. In truth, he felt very much at this moment as though 
he had been delivered of a devil. A strange, unaccustomed sense 
of elation filled his breast. The mists that for the past two 
months had obscured his home life cleared away. He thought of 
his family, of his friends in Washington ; thought of them 
pleasantly, and wished that he could see them. He wished that 
Curley would wake up, so that he might talk to him. He felt 
almost as though he had been away, and was prepared to indulge 
in that honest American habit of shaking hands with everybody 
he met. There was a sense of freedom about it, — a freedom to 
look any man in the face without suspicion ; a freedom to enjoy 
the sunshine that came pouring in at the window without a 
thought other than that of keeping it out of his eyes ; a freedom 
to enjoy the homely sights and sounds of every-day life without 
attaching to them any evil significance. He was no longer pur- 
suing pleasure, or rather, pleasure was no longer pursuing him : 
he had escaped, and was free. 

Beaugarde came in later in the day. He had little to re- 
late beyond the already-known fact that De Carambole had 
accompanied Mrs. Merrin in her flight, and that they had 
gone to Dieppe, presumably to take the steamer for Os- 
tend. 

Beaugarde entered into elaborate details of his action in the 
matter, narrating how, on receiving Langdon’s note, he had sent 
his valet to make inquiries. 

“ He is a detective, that fellow of mine,” he declared. “ For all 
his smooth face and his innocent air, I do not doubt that he can 
tell me more of my little affairs than I know myself. So I send 
him to make the discreet inquiries. For, do you see, I did not 
wish to have the scandal known. But, my faith ! it is in every- 
body’s mouth. No doubt it pleases M. le Comte to have it pub- 
lic. People will say, ‘ Mon Dieu ! have you heard } M. de 
Carambole has run away with the divine CUopaire, the beautiful 
American. Ah ! he is a terrible fellow, that De Carambole.’ So 
the whole town talks of it.” 

“ Have you seen anything more of Mr. Merrin or Langdon } ” 
asked Arthur. 

“No,” said Beaugarde. “ But M. Merrin— he will be wise to do 
nothing. De Carambole is a duelist. Having eloped with the 


204 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


wife, he will be only too well pleased to have the sensation of a 
meeting with the husband.” 

“ I have no doubt he will be accommodated,” said Arthur. 

Beaugarde shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Your friend will make nothing,” he said. “ The lady declares 
her preference for another, and she is gone. What would you ? 
Let him go home and procure the divorce, as you have it in your 
country. When M. le Comte is tired of his bargain, he will return 
to Paris, and the lady — ” 

Here Beaugarde blew a little cloud of cigarette smoke from his 
lips, and elevated his shoulders. 

This summary disposal of Mrs. Merrin nettled Arthur ; but, 
before his displeasure could shape itself in words, his cousin, who 
was evidently pleasantly excited by the great sensation in which 
he was a figure, and stimulated thereby to be loquacious, con- 
tinued, 

“ I am only glad that it is not you who play the Don Juan, my 
cousin. When our good friend Langdon sent me the note last 
night, I greatly feared that it might be. And, my faith ; so did he. 
It is I who tell you. He was well pleased to find you here this 
morning.” 

Here Beaugarde paused, evidently curious to know the secret 
of the angry disorder he had witnessed on joining them at the 
cafi, and expecting Arthur to proceed with his share of the story. 
But Arthur was in no humor to talk of the affair. He half shut 
his eyes, and, blowing a thin ribbon of smoke from his lips, said, 
in an inquiring but indifferent tone, “ Yes ? ” 

“ My faith ! yes,” replied Beaugarde. “ And he is not the only 
one either. They say at the club — ” 

“ My dear cousin, they say so many things at the club,” inter- 
rupted Arthur. “ It doesn’t make much difference, does it.^ ’’ 

Beaugarde, shrugging his shoulders, replied, “ That is true,” 
and accepting the hint, changed the subject. “ How is our little 
friend ? ” he said. 

“ He is much better,” said Arthur. “ The doctor was here 
a while ago, and said that I need not stand guard any longer than 
to-day.” 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed Beaugarde, “ that reminds me. I owe you 
a thousand apologies for my stupidity last night. You received 
my note } I had totally forgotten an engagement ; and, as I 
found from your aunt that she would not be at home in the even- 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


205 

ing, I knew that you would not care to make your visit. So, you 
see, I did not come. You will pardon me ? ” 

“Why, certainly,” said Arthur. “ It made no difference.” 

As he made this conventional reply, the tremendous difference 
that it had made impressed him very forcibly. 

“ I told madame, your aunt, of your intentions,” said Beaugarde, 
“ and of my negligence ; and she told me to say to you that she 
will be happy to receive your visit to-day. I will come and stay 
with Dudley at any hour you like.” 

“ Thanks,” said Arthur, “ it is not necessary ; he is so much 
better. Much obliged just the same.” 

He did not want to make that visit to-day. He did not want to 
meet Gertrude just yet. He could not tell why, only he shrank 
from it. No doubt she was too much occupied with preparations 
for her marriage to Mr. Yates, to notice his delay in calling. 
Besides, he intended to remain at home this day. He wanted to 
be accessible in case some unexpected development of this affair 
of Merrin’s should demand his presence. And, in any event, he 
was anxious to hear from Langdon, to learn what had become of 
Mr. Merrin. 

But Langdon did not make his appearance that day nor the next, 
and it was not until a week had elapsed that Arthur learned from 
his lips what the sequel of the matter was. 

Langdon’s story was brief. After leaving the cafe where that 
stormy, early-morning interview had taken place, he was unable 
to find Merrin. Going to the Boulevard Haussmann, he learned 
that the officers of the law were in possession, Mrs. Merrin’s 
flight having so soon become known to her numerous creditors. 
Later in the day, Merrin appeared. He became furious at seeing 
his wife's apartments in the possession of the officer of the law, 
and used some violent language toward that official ; but, fortu- 
nately, as it was in English, it provoked no other reply than sun- 
dry protesting waves of the hand and shrugs of the shoulder. 

Merrin was not pleased at seeing Langdon again, and at first 
was cold and uncommunicative. He gradually gathered, how- 
ever, from what the distraught man let fall, that he had occupied 
himself in purchasing a ticket for Dieppe, and another pistol to 
replace the one Langdon had taken from him. Finally getting 
him away to his own rooms at the hotel, Langdon talked and 
argued with him on the folly of pursuing the runaway couple. 
Taking much the same ground that Beaugarde had adopted. 


2o6 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Langdon pointed out the difficulties of such a pursuit ; and even 
if he did succeed in finding the fugitives, it would be only to 
kill or be killed by this roue whom he had never seen ; that he 
would not bring back his wife even if he could ; that she was 
not worthy of his further consideration ; and much more to the 
same purpose. Merrin still persisted, however, and Langdon 
went with him to Dieppe. Here with some difficulty, they learned 
that the couple had departed for Ostend, leaving their ultimate 
destination only to be guessed at. 

Langdon renewed his arguments ; and, finally impressing upon 
Merrin the necessity of at least trying to get his money affairs into 
some sort of shape before he attempted to do anything more, he 
induced him to return to London. 

Here Langdon succeeded in getting his friend’s thoughts tem- 
porarily withdrawn from brooding over his wrongs, and saw him 
gradually become interested in his financial affairs. Langdon lent 
him money to help him out in some of his more promising specu- 
lations, and finally left him calm and self-possessed. 

“ Strangely enough,” concluded Langdon, “ he had a marvellous 
streak of luck in one of his old stock deals, and realized quite a 
sum of money just before I left. What he will do eventually I 
don’t know. I have done all that I or anybody else can ; that is, 
tided him over the worst of it. I rather think that, now he has 
cooled down a little, he is beginning to look at the matter in its 
proper light, and that he will simply get a divorce, and that will 
be the end of it.” 

And Arthur, with a curious, dual feeling of being the guilty 
partner of Mrs. Merrin’s flight, and at the same time the disinter- 
ested friend of her husband, replied mechanically, — • 

“ Yes, I suppose that will be the end of it.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 


Not far from the house in which Arthur and Dudley had apart- 
ments, there is a modest, clean, bright little street, or rather, 
court, for it is no thoroughfare ; a street that impresses one with 
the idea that all who live in the queer old houses which inclose it 
must be happy. A frank, honest street it is, that knows no guile ; 
a street where children’s voices and laughter awaken the cheery 
old echoes from the moment that the first early rays of the morn- 
ing sun light up its nooks and crannies, until they lingeringly bid 
it good-night ; a street completely separated from the noise and 
glare, gilt and dirt, fashion and folly of the town ; an innocent, 
unsophisticated village lane hidden in the crowd of hardened, de- 
praved city thoroughfares. At the upper end of this court, and 
comfortably closing it, there is an old-fashioned house, with bright 
little diamond-paned windows scattered over its front, and fan- 
tastical little dormers scattered over its roof. Coquettish piazzas 
run around its sides, and marvellous chimney turrets, in which the 
sparrows rear noisy families, crown its summit. And in this de- 
lightful retreat, known to the initiated as the cafi of La Petite 
Madame, you can obtain, for the small sum of one franc, an 
omelet or a cutlet, and a glass of Rhenish, which cannot be ex 
celled for its price in all France. 

Sitting on the veranda of Madame’s hospitable house one sum- 
mer afternoon about a week after the events just related, were 
Arthur and Dudley. Between them was a little square table on 
which stood a bottle of that same Rhenish, while over them the 
sun poured its light and warmth, making, with the aid of the 
lattice-work, brilliant checker-boards of them and their surround- 
ings. Dividing his attention between the thin ribbon of smoke 
that wavered from the end of his cigar in alternate sections of 
dark steel blue and pearly white, and the dusky gold wine in his 
long-stemmed glass, Arthur was moved to regard Curley from 
under the rim of his hat, which, being tilted down over his eyes, 
necessitated his leaning his head back to see him, and to remark : 

207 


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A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ Isn’t this jolly ” 

“ You can bet your sweet life it is,” said that young gentleman 
slangily, but emphatically. “ It is like getting out of prison.” 

Arthur nodded, and returned to the contemplation of his cigar. 

Many times before had he sat on this porch and been made a 
checker-board of by the lattice and the sun ; but never before had 
he discovered how pleasant it was. When La Petite Madame 
made her appearance to inquire if the gentleman desired anything 
more, he smiled upon her, when replying in the negative, in such a 
way as to induce that charming woman to softly pat his shoulder 
in a motherly manner as she retired. And the great hulking New- 
foundland dog, Fidele, which belongs to the house, came slouch- 
ing around the corner, and, commencing to turn himself around in 
the conventional manner, suddenly gave it up and flopped down 
by Arthur’s chair, it being too warm for etiquette. And Arthur 
leaned over and scratched Fidele’s head, which act of courtesy 
being acknowledged by an upward glance from the dog’s soft 
brown eyes and a slight movement of his tail, Arthur returned con- 
tentedly to his cigar and his wine. 

“ Did you have a nice ride this morning ? ” he said presently. 

“ Ever so nice,” replied Curley. ‘‘ The Bois was lovely, and 
they insisted on my drinking a glass of ale when we got out.” , 

“ Had to hold you, I suppose,” said Arthur, “ and pour it down 
your throat, eh ? ” 

“ Um,” assented Curley. 

“ Wish I was sick myself,” said Arthur. 

“ Oh, no ! ” said Curley, with an air of superior knowledge born 
of experience, “ oh, no, you don’t ! ” 

“ I don’t suppose they would send me fresh violets every morn- 
ing, and take me out riding if I was.” 

“ They were talking about you this morning,” said Curley. 

“ Were they? ” said Arthur quickly, and then adding in a tone 
of indifference, “ They must have been hard up for a subject of 
conversation,” he filliped the ash from his cigar over the railing. 

“ Yes, we were,” replied Curley. “ Your aunt said how good it 
was of you not to leave me even to come and see them. I didn’t 
see it myself. I lost two bouquets and a ride by your laziness. 
Then she said what a hero you were to go in swimming with me 
that night in the Bay of Biscay ; what a brave — Hold on ! ” he ex- 
claimed laughingly, holding up his arm in defence, for Arthur had 
grasped the bottle in a threatening manner. “ Let me finish. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


209 


can’t you ? What a brave fellow you were, and what a pity it was 
you were such a reprobate. She begged me not to give you up in 
despair, and I said that I wouldn’t.” 

Arthur inwardly winced a little at this, although he understood 
that Dudley was turning off the remark in jest. At the same 
time, he knew that his name had been more or less involved in the 
scandal of the past week, exaggerated stories of his meeting with 
Merrin having got abroad. Some reports even declared that they 
had fought a duel. But the fact was, that as days went by, he 
was more and more disinclined to be called to account for the past 
which he had put behind him. He had relinquished his armor 
and sat in the sunlight, enjoying his cakes and ale ; and, in this 
condition he was sensitive to the talk of the world, and super- 
sensitive to Gertrude’s opinion of him. Such allusion as that just 
made, therefore, disturbed him. 

“ Why,” he said, with an attempt at unconcern, what gossip 
about me have they got hold of now } ” 

“ Oh,'nothing,” said Curley quickly, seeing that his remark was 
taken seriously. “ I was only in fun. Your aunt was talking very 
nicely about you, and then said all of a sudden that it beat the 
devil how Americans here gossiped about one another.” 

“ What ! my aunt said that ? ” inquired Arthur. 

“ Well, she didn’t say it exactly in those words,” said Dudley, 
“ but that was what she meant. She said that she had even heard 
you talked of. Just think of that, you innocent old saint! Even 
heard scandal about you ! And then your cousin said, ‘ Which of 
course we don’t believe,’ and looked at me with those eyes of hers 
so that I wanted to skip right off and find the fellow who said it, 
and lick him.” 

“ Humph ! ” said Arthur incredulously, blowing out a ring of 
smoke, and sending a smaller one through it. 

“ It is mean of you to do that,” said Curley, seriously, ‘‘ when 
you know that I can’t.” Then, after sundry fruitless efforts to 
make rings, he continued, “ Your aunt wanted to know why you 
did not come riding with us.” 

‘‘ What did you tell her } ” said Arthur. 

“ Why, I ought to have told her that it was because you were a 
fraud,” replied Curley, indignantly, “ but I didn’t. I told her that 
you had a previous engagement with the President of the Young 
Men’s Christian Association. I tell you what though, if I had 
known that you were going to get out of it as you did, I would not 

14 


210 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


have gone myself. I supposed of course you were going. Then, 
after all your pretty talk about its being such a nice morning for a 
drive, the air so balmy and refreshing, quite invigorating in fact, to 
put me in the carriage and shut the door and wish us a pleasant 
time, and raise your hat and walk off ! Really, Arthur, your cheek 
is something phenomenal ! ” 

Whereat Arthur only laughed. 

Several days before he had called upon his aunt and cousin, and 
found both the ladies “ not at home.” He naturally translated the 
words “ not at home to him.” He asked for Madame de Beau- 
garde, but she was also out. This rebuff, as he construed it, cha- 
grined him, and he determined that he would not render himself 
liable to a repetition of it. The next morning, however, as though 
to dispel any unpleasant impression, his aunt and Gertrude, while 
out riding in the Countess de Beaugarde’s carriage, stopped in the 
Rue du Croissant, and sent the footman up with a message to 
know if Arthur and Mr. Dudley would ride with them to the Bois. 
Arthur’s heart began to thump when he understood the message, 
and the meaning of the attention bestowed upon him, and then 
down he went to the carriage in considerable trepidation and 
greeted the two ladies, scarcely knowing how much he had felt 
their, or rather Gertrude’s condemnation, until he found himself 
free from it. 

Going back to his room, Arthur bundled Dudley up in a huge 
ulster, and brought him down and placed him in the carriage. 
Gertrude quietly made him take her seat so that he would not 
ride with his back to the horses, while Arthur himself sat opposite 
his aunt. The latter evidently felt it an exertion to talk, and 
Arthur had just as little inclination to sustain a conversation. 
Gertrude and Dudley, however, chatted away easily and merrily, 
while every now and then Arthur stole a glance at her face. It 
was little more than a year since he had parted from her at the 
gate of her cottage in Newport. It seemed to him like five years. 
He had left her a girl, he found her a woman. She had been 
exceeding pretty then, now she was beautiful. Her face had lost 
a little of its youthful, rounded outline ; but it had gained in char- 
acter and expression. The same glory of golden-brown hair, with 
its obstinate little tresses, was there; the same large, dark-gray 
eyes ; the same poise of the shapely head ; the same little “ ways,” 
the same Gertrude, in fact, only more — Arthur could not tell 
exactly what, unless it was more fascinating. Recalling the stories 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


2II 


which he had heard from time to time of the sensation she had 
created in society during the past winter, he could readily 
understand it. She was certainly ver}' self-possessed. Of course, 
why should she not be ? Every time that the silence maintained 
by his aunt and himself became noticeable, she engaged him in con- 
versation. It was very polite of her, but it was the politeness she 
would have shown to a stranger. Was that her intention ? Hot 
and resentful at the thought, he asked himself what he had done 
that she should treat him so distantly. But this question the recol- 
lection of the past month answered so promptly, as to rather dis- 
concert him. After all though, it could not be due to any scandal 
she had heard, else she and her aunt would scarcely have called 
to take him out riding. Why was it, then ? Because she was 
engaged ? That must be it. Their long friendship was to cease, 
was to count for nothing, now that this new attachment had 
arisen. She was letting him know that he must not presume on 
their former intimacy. Mr. Yates might not like it. Great 
heavens! If such a man as Yates could win her love, why should 
he, Arthur, care for her friendship ? He would show her that he 
understood ; that it would be quite unnecessary for her to make it 
plainer. And all the time that he chafed and fretted he was 
watching her furtively, noting the little locks of soft hair that es- 
caped from under her large, Gainsborough hat ; the transparent 
color the wind had brought to her cheeks ; the white, even, little 
teeth when she laughed ; watching all the time, hoping to find 
some defect, something that depreciated her, some word or action 
that he could find fault with, quarrel with. But it was of no use. 
With a sigh he had to acknowledge that she was perfect. But 
Mr. Yates ! That affair surely betrayed a flaw. He could quarrel 
with that. Any woman who could find congenial company in such 
a stupid, common, vulgar fellow — ! Why the very idea of that 
man’s daring to take her hand made his blood boil. It was too 
much ! And turning away, he fell to gnawing the end of his 
mustache in gloomy silence. 

After a spasmodic effort to talk to his aunt, Arthur soon found 
himself again watching Gertrude, even smiling at some witty retort 
she had made to Curley. How bright she w’as ! Curley was 
bright in his w^ay, but he was no match for her. And how 
stylishly she held her head! What a pretty little hand she 
had ! He remembered how she had slipped that little hand 
into his one moonlight night, because she was sorry for him 


212 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


in his disbeliefs. How sweet of her that was ! He had told 
her then that she could always keep him good, and had not 
his words been true ? Had not he gone to the devil the moment 
that she had forsaken him ? His saint ! His queen ! Ay, there 
had been the trouble : she was his queen. It was left for another 
man to make her something nearer, something dearer. Fool that 
he was ! It was reserved for a fellow like Yates to make her all 
his own. All his own! For the first time the idea of Gertrude 
as a wife entered Arthur’s mind, and worked, and gradually 
undermining the ideal edifice which time and habit had erected, 
this castle in the air, it fell with a crash which thrilled through his 
heart, and from the ruins sprang Love who had been a-hiding 
there. All a man’s own! Yes, why not? She was a woman. 
She was no unreal creation, no saint, no idol, to be put in a niche 
and worshipped. She was a woman, and even he, Arthur, might 
have striven to win her, might have made her his. Who could 
say ? His, from the soft hair that blew about her temples to the 
soles of her dainty feet ; her wit, her intelligence, her pride, her 
impetuous anger, her tender sympathy, her imperious frown and 
saucy laugh, all his own, even to the rustle of her skirt and the 
faint perfume that hovered around her ; his, to have, to hold, for- 
ever ! As he watched Gertrude during the progress of these pas- 
sionate thoughts, her personality seemed to flood his whole soul, 
his heart was drowned in her being. He became startled, anxious, 
alarmed at the intensity of his emotions. 

“Thank God!” he said to himself, when the carriage at last 
stopped before their door. “ I would not take that ride again to 
be an admiral.” To his aunt he said, “ I am much obliged, I 
have enjoyed the ride immensely, and I am sure it has done 
Frank, here, a world of good.” 

He had said nothing to Dudley of his intentions, but when his 
aunt and cousin came again to take the invalid out for a ride, he 
had quietly excused himself, and walked off. He would have 
given much to have gone, and spent a wretched hour during 
Dudley’s absence. Yet he was glad he had had resolution enough 
to overcome the temptation. “ They don’t want me,” he had said 
to himself ; “ I was only in the way last time. It is all up with 
me, as far as she is concerned, and I won’t hang around like a 
whining beggar. I will get away from here and cut the whole 
business.” 

It was of this ride that Dudley was speaking, as he and Arthur 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 213 

sat sipping their wine in the sunlight, at La Petite Mad- 
ame' s. 

“ No,” continued Dudley : “ I never would have gone if I had 
thought you were not going, too. It was a scurvy trick to play a 
fellow ! ” 

After a short silence, he said, in a different tone, with a sort of 
shy embarrassment, “ Do you know, Arley, I don’t believe I care 
to go out riding with them any more.” 

“ No ? ” said Arthur, looking at him with surprise. “ I thought 
you liked to ride.” 

“Well, I do,” said Dudley, hesitatingly, “and it is very good of 
them to take me, but — ” Then, looking up at Arthur with an 
expression of comic desperation, he exclaimed, “ I don’t know why 
I should not tell you. I am fearfully in love with Miss Alden. 
I suppose every fellow is that ever met her, but that don’t help 
me any. The fact of the matter is, I have about made up my 
mind to quit and go away from here. I am strong enough now, 
the doctor thinks.” 

“ All right,” said Arthur. “ I am only waiting for you.” 

“ What ! ” said Dudley, eagerly. “ Will you go } " 

“ Of course I will,” replied Arthur. 

“ Why, now, that is ever so jolly ! ” exclaimed Dudley. “ When 
shall we start ? ” 

“ I am ready to start to-morrow, if the doctor will let us,” said 
Arthur. “ We can travel slowly, and stop over at some of the 
towns.” 

“ That suits me to a dot,” said Dudley. “ I got a letter from 
mother, this morning. She is coming over here, by the way. 
Meantime, she says she wants me to leave Paris and go farther 
south. She does not think that Paris is a very good place for 
me,” and he looked at Arthur with a laugh. “ Poor mother,” he 
added, tenderly, “ poor little mother ! She is all broke up on 
account of my having fallen overboard and got sick, and all the 
rest of it. She has inclosed a letter for you, but I don’t know 
whether I ought to let you have it without reading it first. Espe- 
cially when she thinks you are the greatest fellow that ever 
lived. So brave and so good. She doesn’t know you as well as I 
do.” 

“ No,” said Arthur rather seriously : “that’s a fact.” 

“ She does too,” exclaimed Curley indignantly. “ She knows 
you a long sight better than you know yourself. I never saw such 


214 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


a fellow. You are always running yourself down. Here, take 
your letter.” 

Arthur took the note, and opening it, read the hurriedly written 
lines. It was filled with extravagant words of praise and grati- 
tude, and the ink was blurred in places where the mother’s tears 
had fallen as she wrote. 

God will reward you, Arthur,” it ended. “ God will reward 
you. And I pray to him night and morning that he will guard 
and keep you from all harm, even as you have kept my boy.” 

As he folded the letter, and put it in his pocket, Arthur looked 
at Curley, and nodded. Then, tilting his hat down over his eyes, 
he sat smoking in silence. Having been conquered by fate, dis- 
armed, and forced to acknowledge his allegiance to a superior 
power, his mood was somewhat humble. And he found himself 
wondering whether this woman’s prayers had had anything to do 
with the curious combination of circumstances that had kept him 
from being at this moment, an outlaw. 

“You say that your mother is coming over here, Curley?” 
asked Arthur presently. 

“Yes,” replied Dudley. “Poor mother! she is dreadfully 
alarmed about me. I am glad that she is coming, too,” he added 
thoughtfully, with a little sigh. “ I did not like to suggest it, but 
I have been wishing that she would come.” 

“ When will she be here ? ” 

“ Let me see,” said Curley, looking over one of his letters, “ I 
think she starts to-day. Yes, the fifteenth of June, that is to-day. 
She is coming by the Kennedy line to Havre.” 

“ Well,” said Arthur, “ when we get settled in some pleasant 
place, I can run down by train to meet her. And now, old man, 
what do you say? Shall we up anchor and get out of this 
to-morrow ? ” 

“ Yes, — let’s,” said Curley, brightening up. 

“ All right,” said Arthur, rising, and rapping on the table for 
his score. 

And, having settled the bill, they bade the little madame 
good-by, and passed out into the glad sunshine. Down the street 
they went arm in arm together; and the next day they turned 
their faces toward the South, and Paris saw them no more. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


Mr. Yates was commonly spoken of in Washington as a very 
lucky fellow. Certainly, the successful suitor for the hand of Miss 
Gertrude Alden deserved that title. The first few days succeed- 
ing his acceptance were days of such rapture that he could not 
contain himself. He was boyish in the exuberance of his spirits. 
He held himself painfully erect, expanded his chest, and moved 
with a cheerful alacrity ; laughed, talked, and beamed impartially 
upon all mankind ; and, when he was not otherwise engaged, he 
cracked his finger-joints, or slapped the palms of his hands 
together, — physical manifestations that advertised his joy to the 
world. 

But in less than a week came the reaction. In less than a week 
the serpent lifted its head and looked around upon Mr. Yates’ new 
Eden and, unfortunately for that gentleman, found in it a great 
deal to feed upon. After the excitement of his acceptance had 
subsided, the calm assertion which Gertrude had coupled with it, 
to wit ; that she did not love him, began forcing itself upon his 
notice, began repeating itself like the constant dropping of water 
upon a man's head, until at last all that he had endured before 
was as nothing compared to this new torment ; this constant repe- 
tition of the thought, “ She is mine, but she cares nothing for me.” 
Before, he had loved her desperately, madly, but hopelessly. He 
had been forced to stand afar off, and worship. Now he was 
permitted to stand at her side, and love her. She was his, and 
yet he dared not so much as take her hand without fear of a 
rebuff. And so the snake raised its head, and assuming that most 
malignant, deadly guise, jealousy, it luxuriated in this new-found 
Eden, and grew and waxed strong until at times it almost proved 
too strong for Mr. Yates’s control. 

After her engagement was announced, the most exacting 
chaperon could not have found fault with Gertrude’s conduct. 
Although there was not the least indication of affection in her 
manner to her betrothed, she observed all the traditions and 

2IS 


2i6 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


customs which modern civilization prescribes for the young 
woman about to marry. She withdrew herself from indiscrim- 
inate attention, became reserved in her conversation, and sedate 
in her manner. There were, to be sure, those who thought her 
discretion seemed more like listlessness, her reserved manner like 
pre-occupation of mind ; but then, one cannot satisfy everybody. 
One thing, however, Gertrude made clearly apparent to society, 
and that was, that having accepted Mr. Yates, she intended that 
society should treat him with all honor and respect. She drew 
around him the magic circle of her own individuality, pointed his 
dull remarks with her own wit, gave meaning to his platitudes, 
drew to the surface his best qualities, and all with a deference to 
his utterances that blinded him and many others to the fact of his 
inanity. To be sure there were some of those previously referred 
to, who, standing by as spectators, saw that she played a part, 
and wondered why, and then lost their wonder in admiration 
because she played it so well. They saw that she was giving this 
sorry knight, her promised husband, such an opportunity, such 
sweet assistance, in the winning of his spurs as rarely falls to the 
lot of a man. It was admirable, but it was pathetic. And many 
a man willing to give half his life for half the chance, swore that 
it was a shame, and turned away in disgust from the lucky Mr. 
Yates. 

It was not that gentleman’s fault that he did not appreciate 
what the gods had provided him. He was as nature made him, 
and the base metal of his composition gave no response to the 
test. He was surprised at his own suddenly developed genius, 
during this brief period ; but he had no perception of Gertrude’s 
agency in the matter. All his life he had brooded over the snubs 
and slights of his associates in society, and now that he seemed 
to have suddenly risen above this condition he lost his head. He 
began to believe in himself, naturally enough ; in his wit, his intel- 
ligence, in his fine traits as he saw them exhibited under Ger- 
trude’s magic touch. He lost the humility which before had not 
only made him tolerable with men, but, by appealing to their pity, 
had even attracted women. He became self-opinionated, con- 
ceited. And this was the only result of Gertrude’s consideration. 
No, not the only result ; for with the development of this conceit 
came a certain amount of assurance which reacted directly upon 
her. Believing in his newly acquired value, he was emboldened 
to give utterance to the dissatisfaction and jealousy that was 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


217 


gnawing within him. At first in veilea words, vague intimations, 
followed by a little laugh that deprecated resentment. And then, 
as Gertrude ignored his insinuations, in more pronounced asser- 
tions. He criticised the gentlemen who paid her the least atten- 
tion, — he criticised and disparaged them to her, until, construing 
her self-restraint as subjection, he openly protested against her 
receiving attention from any one but him. This little exercise of 
authority was sweet and cooling to the fever within his breast, — 
so sweet that it beguiled him altogether of his prudence. He 
began giving her advice, in a semi-authoritative way, as to her 
conduct ; advice which he labored to make appear as emanating 
from an unprejudiced desire for her welfare, the advice of a man 
of the world to an unsophisticated girl, but which was so evidently 
instigated by his jealousy, a child could have seen through the 
thin pretence. Gertrude herself could have laughed at the gravity 
with which he gave her the benefit of her own ideas, — could have 
laughed if she had not been given too much to weeping just at 
this time. And still she maintained her wonderful self-constraint, 
was patient with him even when he asserted his authority over 
her in public, assisted him, upheld him, and palliated his solecisms, 
to the surprise of those who knew, or thought they knew, her 
character. 

“ I never saw any one so changed in all my life,” exclaimed 
Kate. 

“ She is certainly looking very badly,” replied her mother. “ I 
never saw her so pale and thin before.* 

“ I don’t mean that,” said Kate impatiently. “ But she does 
not seem to have any spirit. It is absurd, the authority that man 
assumes over her.” 

'' But she is engaged to him, Katie,” replied the old-fashioned 
Catherine rebukingly. 

“ I don’t care if she is engaged to him,” retorted the modern 
Kate. “ He is not her husband yet ; and, even if he were, he 
would have no right to treat her like a slave. It is my opinion he 
will go too far some day.” 

And then, after a little thoughtful pause, Kate compressed her 
lips, and added, with great deliberation, “ I wish he would ! I just 
wish he would ! ” 

“ O Katie ! ” protested Mrs. Arlingford. 

But, on second thought, she was not sure but that she wished 
the same thing. 


2i8 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Undoubtedly there were times when Mr. Yates himself grew 
alarmed at his own temerity. There were times when his eyes 
had an anxious look, and his manner grew uncertain, as though he 
had lost his way. Undoubtedly he had secret forebodings that he 
was not in the right path, and made many resolutions to retrace 
his steps. But he was powerless. His morbid jealousy had 
grown too strong for his control ; and his intense desire to isolate 
Gertrude from all the rest of the world, to have her, body and 
soul, all to himself, pushed him on, despite his misgivings. Each 
day his intolerance increased. A slave risen to power becomes a 
tyrant, and many began to pity Gertrude for the treatment she 
would plainly have to expect from her future husband. 

Such a line of conduct could not, however, be pursued forever ; 
and Mr. Yates soon pushed it to a crisis. As Kate had foreseen, 
the day arrived when he went too far ; but, contrary to her hopes, 
the result was not a rupture of the engagement. Mr. Yates was 
too weak a man to be broken with very easily. 

The spring had set in with bleak, inclement weather, and Mrs 
Arlingford’s health declined. She had never entirely recovered 
from the illness which had marked the success of her scheme to 
make Gertrude the affianced wife of Mr. Yates. She continued 
listless, low-spirited, and nervous, starting at the shutting of a 
door, and weeping without apparent cause. The doctor, an old 
friend of the family, shook his head gravely over the inefficacy of 
sedatives and tonics, and smiled an allopathic smile at Madame 
Catherine’s homoepathic suggestions. 

“ What Mrs. Arlingford really needs,” he said, “ is perfect rest 
and a change of climate. And what is more, my young lady, 
here. Miss Gertrude, needs the same medicine.” 

“ Why ? ’’ said Gertrude, with unusual interest in her manner, 
“ do you think there is anything the matter with me ? ” 

Whereupon the old gentleman looked at her curiously, as he 
replied, “ One would think you would almost be pleased if I said 
‘yes.’ ” 

“ O doctor, how absurd ! ” said Gertrude, changing color. “ Of 
course I don’t want to be sick. Who ever does ? ” 

“O my dear,” retorted the doctor, '• people sometimes do, for it 
is a queer world. Now if you want to convince us that you are 
not one of that silly sort, you will go to work and keep that color 
in your cheeks that you have now. The old man of the Potomac 
flats chooses just such pale faces as yours. I think you and your 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


219 


aunt had better both of you pack up and be off to Europe. A sea 
voyage will do you more good than all the medicine I can give 
you, allopathic or homoepathic. Eh, Mrs. Arlingford ? ” 

“ I think you are right about the sea voyage,” said Catherine, 
who was with her sister-in-law at the time of this visit. “ Why 
don’t you do that, Mary ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Mrs. Arlingford, looking helplessly at Ger- 
trude. “ What do you think, my dear ? ” 

“ If it would make you well,” said Gertrude, arising restlessly, 
and going to the window, “ we had better go.” 

“ It would be so nice,” said the major’s wife ; “ perhaps you 
would meet Arthur. I wish I could go,” she added, sighing. 

“ Would it not do just as well to go to the mountains, doctor.? ” 
said Gertrude, abruptly. “ It is such an undertaking to go abroad, 
and I hate the sea.” 

“ No, my dear,” said the doctor, “ I don’t think it would. Your 
aunt needs a complete change, and I think the sea air would help 
her immensely. However, talk it over among yourselves ; there is 
no immediate hurry.” 

And so the subject, having been broached, was discussed at 
intervals by the members of both families. Major Arlingford 
strongly urged his sister-in-law to follow the doctor’s advice. 
Knowing that she had not been strong for years, he was not sur- 
prised when the doctor confided to him that her malady was more 
serious than was generally supposed, being, in fact, an enlarge- 
ment of an artery which threatened to result in an aneurism. “ If 
she goes abroad,” said the doctor, “ it will give her an opportunity 
to consult Perault, who makes a specialty of such things. Then, 
besides, it seems to me that she has got something on her mind 
which is worrying her. Whether it is her husband’s death, or 
Gertrude’s engagement, or what it is, I don’t know. But I think 
a complete change of climate and surroundings will do her good.” 

And so Major Arlingford favored the voyage, and wrote to his 
aunt, the Countess de Beaugarde, bespeaking her kind offices in 
the matter. 

As for Mrs. Arlingford, herself, she would go or not, as 
Gertrude wished. In fact it was almost pitiable to see how, at 
this period, she ignored herself in anxious solicitude for Gertrude’s 
happiness. She followed the girl’s every movement with a yearn- 
ing look in her eyes. If Gertrude’s head ached, it alarmed her; if 
she was silent, she became unhappy ; she besieged her with tender 


220 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


attentions, and, if Gertrude failed to respond, the ever-ready tears 
would come to her dim eyes. The consequence was, that Ger- 
trude gradually constrained herself to appear happy and contented 
in Mrs. Arlingford’s presence. She did not understand the real 
reason of her aunt’s altered manner, but attributed it to her- 
illness. The necessity, whatever caused it, was irksome. This 
constant playing a part wearied her. She wanted the rules of her 
conduct laid down for her ; she wanted to be relieved of the 
responsibility of acting for herself ; she wanted to be governed, 
she did not want to govern ; and when her aunt left the decision 
of this European trip to her, she rebelled against the burden of 
this affection. 

Why could not her Aunt Mary see that it was a matter for her 
to determine ? Gertrude knew that she was pleased with the 
project, that secretly she wanted to go. Why, then, would she 
not go ? Why would she not resume her accustomed authority, 
and take her, Gertrude, without consulting any one ? It would 
be such a simple matter. If she only did that, why then she 
would have to go with her aunt, of course, even at the risk of 
meeting Arthur. Not that she had any cause to fear meeting 
him, she said, proudly. She would not let the thought of him 
influence her action in any manner ! Only, it was clearly a matter 
for her aunt to decide. 

But no : Mrs. Arlingford was fearful of crossing Gertrude’s 
inclination. She quoted Gertrude’s own arguments against the 
trip, and tenderly reminded her of her well-known aversion to the 
sea. 

“ I understand your feeling about it, perfectly, my dear,” she 
said, one day ; “ and I would not cause you a moment’s unhappi- 
ness, if I could avoid it. You know that, Gertrude, don’t you ? ” 

“ Of course, Aunt Mary, I know that,” replied Gertrude. 

“ You must always believe that, dear,” continued her aunt. 
“ And, as for this voyage, what does it matter ? An old woman 
like me can’t expect to live always. I have no doubt a month or 
two in the mountains will do just as well.” 

Then Gertrude turned around on her, and said decisively, 
almost angrily, “ Aunt Mary, don’t talk like that. We will go to 
Europe. They all say that it is necessary for your health, and we 
will go. So now it is settled, and don’t let us talk about it any 
more.” 

In this way was the decision reached. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


22 


As for Mr. Yates. In accordance with the studious observance 
of formality which she had adopted toward her betrothed, Ger- 
trude informed him of their intention immediately after the resolu- 
tion was taken. Somewhat to her surprise, Mr. Yates cordially 
'approved of the plan. He set forth the various advantages of the 
trip with as much clearness as the doctor himself had done. 

Then, getting up and moving around with a sort of awkward 
embarrassment which characterized him when he had anything on 
his mind, he added, “ The fact of the matter is, I have some 
business in London, which may take me over there myself. I 
ought to have attended to it long ago, only, of course I did not 
want to go away, under the circumstances. But, it is odd, isn’t 
it ? I had just about made up my mind that I would have to go, 
when you spoke of your intention. So now we can all go together. 
It could not have happened better, could it ? ” And he forced a 
smile that was somewhat belied by the anxious expression in his 
eyes, as he finally looked at Gertrude for the first time. 

Gertrude was silent for a few moments. 

“ I scarcely think that would be desirable, Mr. Yates,” she said, 
finally. 

“ Why not ? ” said Yates, eagerly, the smile instantly leaving his 
face. “ I don’t see why not.” 

“ Well,” said Gertrude, slowly, “ I don’t know, but I don’t 
think Aunt Mary would approve it.” 

“ Yes, she would, too ! ” said Yates. “ I know she would, if I 
talked to her. I’ll ask her right now.” 

“ You know that she does not see any one,” replied Gertrude. 
“ However, I have no objection to telling her what you propose.” 

“ All right,” said Yates, only half satisfied. “ If you tell her 
that I have got to go to London, anyway, on business, I know 
she won’t object to my going with you.” 

But when Gertrude told her aunt what Mr. Yates had said, she 
did object seriously ; in fact, she seemed greatly dismayed. She 
did not, however, positively oppose the suggestion in so many 
words ; she simply relinquished her own intention of going. 

After all,” she said, “ I don’t think I care very much about it, 
Gertrude. Perhaps we had better give up the idea altogether.” 

“ Why ? ” said Gertrude. “ Because Mr. Yates wants to accom- 
pany us ? ” 

“ Well, my dear,” replied her aunt, “ I don’t think it would be 
pleasant. That is, I don’t think it would be exactly the thing.” 


222 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


" Very well,” said Gertrude. “ Then I will tell him so.” 

“ But I am afraid he won’t like it,” said her aunt, weakly. “ It 
would be much better not to say anything more about it.” 

Gertrude looked at her in surprise. ‘‘ Really, auntie,” she said, 
“ I don’t understand you lately. You are so changed. You 
seem to be afraid of Mr. Yates, and yet I thought you liked him.” 

“ Oh, no,” said Mrs. Arlingford, hastily, “ I am not afraid of 
him, of course ; that is absurd ! Only I don’t want to have any 
trouble, and it is just as well to let the matter drop.” 

“ Indeed we won’t,” said Gertrude, resolutely. “ The doctor 
says that it is necessary for you to go to Europe, and we will go, 
no matter what Mr. Yates says. I certainly can’t understand why 
he should be allowed to interfere with your plans, or why he 
should be offended. I am quite sure he won’t be when he under- 
stands how you feel about his going.” 

But Mr. Yates was offended, and was at no pains to conceal 
it. 

“ I don’t see why I should not go,” he said, sullenly. 

“ Simply because my aunt does not wish it,” said Gertrude. 
“ Is not that enough? ” 

“ Well,” said Yates, obstinately, “ I don’t see what objection 
you can have. It might be different if I was not going to Europe 
anyway ; but, as it is, I don’t see what is to prevent me from 
taking passage on the same ship.” 

“ There is nothing to prevent you,” answered Gertrude, coldly ; 
“ nothing but my aunt’s wish.” 

“ Your wish, I guess you mean,” said Yates. 

And as he said it, he stopped in his restless walk, and glanced 
at her. The jealousy that had coiled itself around his heart was 
tightening its hold. There was something so baleful, so malig- 
nant, in the gaze, that Gertrude felt, for the second time, a sudden, 
vague fear of the man. She understood now what her aunt had 
meant by her desire to avoid “ trouble.” But though her cheek 
paled she did not falter. 

“ Very well,” she said quietly; wish, if you choose to con- 
sider it so.” 

Mr. Yates’ eyes fell under her calm gaze, and resuming his walk 
he said, hesitatingly, “ I don’t see the necessity of your going to 
Europe, anyway.” 

Ignoring his inconsistency, Gertrude said, quietly, “ I have 
already told you, it is on account of my aunt’s health,” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


223 


“ That is all very well,” replied Yates, doggedly, “ only you 
don’t seem to think it is necessary to consult my wishes.” 

“ Do you consult mine ? ” said Gertrude, beginning to lose 
patience. 

“ Don’t I ? ” cried Yates, turning upon her passionately. “ Don’t 
I ? There is not an hour of the day, or of the night, either, that I 
am not thinking what 1 can do for you. Haven’t I done every- 
thing to please you, no matter how much it costs ? ” 

“ I have told you often enough,” said Gertrude, “ that it does 
not please me to have you spend money on my account. You do 
it to please yourself.” 

“ What do you ever do to please me. I’d like to know ? ” he 
answered. “You don’t seem to care any more for me than if I 
was a stranger.” And as he spoke his eyes filled- with tears of 
passionate resentment. 

“ Did I ever say that I did ? ” replied Gertrude. 

“ No ! ” shouted Yates, “ and that is just it ! ” 

“ When you asked me to marry you, did I not tell you that I did 
not love you ? ” 

“ Then why are you willing to marry me.? ” he cried, stopping 
in his tramp, and confronting her. 

Gertrude was silent for a moment, and then replied, quietly, 
“ That is my affair.” 

“And it is my affair, too!” exclaimed Yates. And then 
growing pale, he added, in a constrained voice, “ How do I know 
that you don’t love somebody else ? ” 

“ If you think that,” replied Gertrude, drawing herself up, “ if 
you think that, you are at liberty to withdraw from your engage- 
ment. I will release you with pleasure.” 

He looked at her silently for a moment, rubbing his chin with 
his hand, and then said, moodily, “ I expect you would. But I 
don’t choose to be released. You promised to marry me, and I 
intend that you shall keep your promise. All the same, 1 have a 
right to know whether you care for any one else.” 

“ Mr. Yates ! ” exclaimed Gertrude, angrily, “ I think I have 
borne enough of this ! It is about time that we came to some sort 
of understanding. You have no right to question me or control 
me in any way. For the past month I have tried my best to 
satisfy your claims upon my consideration. But, instead of appre- 
ciating my forbearance, you have used it to assume a most unwar- 
ranted authority over me. I could have endured that, but now 


224 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


that you add to it your insulting suspicions, I tell you plainly, sir, 
once for all, that I will not submit to it any longer ! ” 

“ What have I done ? ” said Yates, sulkily. 

“ There is no need to tell you what you have done,” said Ger- 
trude, with tears of indignation in her eyes. “ If you cannot 
understand, there is no use trying to explain.” 

“ I haven’t done anything,” persisted Yates, looking at her 
uneasily. “ I only said that I don’t approve of your going to 
Europe, and I don’t.” Then suddenly raising his voice he reiter- 
ated, “ I don’t ! I don’t ! and I have got something to say about it. 
Do you know what people will think ? ” Gertrude shrugged her 
shoulders impatiently, and vouchsafed no reply. 

“They will think,” continued Yates, with a darkening face, 
“ They will say that — that you are going abroad to meet 
your friend, Mr. Arlingford. Now that he is such a hero, 
and — ” 

But he was not permitted to finish his sentence. Gertrude 
turned upon him, and with a little gesture of her hand, stopped 
him. Drawing her slight form erect, she threw her head back 
proudly, and with the blobd suffusing her face and neck, she 
looked at him with her gray eyes dark with wrath. Then the 
blood slowly receded, leaving her pale as marble. Drawing a 
long breath, she said in a voice of passionate protest, “ This is 
more than I can bear ! What do you mean by saying such 
things } Do you want to make me hate you } If you don’t, you 
are acting like a fool ! ” 

Mr. Yates stared at her open-mouthed for a moment, utterly at 
a loss to understand the cause of this gusty outburst of passion. 
He had not anticipated anything of the sort from his remark. To 
be sure he knew that he was acting like a fool to refer to Arthur 
in such, a way, even before Gertrude announced the fact so 
plainly ; but then he had acted like a fool from the beginning. 
He knew that and felt crushed under the weight of his own weak- 
ness, of his inability to act otherwise than as a fool in everything 
Connected with this great affair of his life. He was in a labyrinth, 
the mazes of which bewildered him. A lightning flash of intuition 
in his dark, passion-clouded soul showed him Arthur’s face in that 
mystery, and in a sullen, savage sort of desperation he persisted in 
blundering on in this path, pointed out by jealousy, blind, reckless 
even, to where it might lead. 

For a few moments he made no immediate reply to Gertrude’s 


A BUND BARGAIN. 


225 

indignant demand for an explanation, but muttered to himself 
some inaudible words. 

“ Mr. Yates,” continued Gertrude, with her teeth set together, 
and a dangerous droop to her eyelids (for was not here again, the 
same humiliating charge contained in the anonymous letter!) 
“ Mr. Yates, I insist upon your telling me what you mean ! ” 

“ Well, what I mean,” he said, suddenly bursting forth in a very 
loud voice, “ what I mean is that everybody knows that he is in 
Paris ; and now if you go over there, won’t everybody say that 
you have gone to be with him, to nurse him ? And I won’t have 
it ! That’s all ! I won’t have it ! ” 

Surprised, perplexed, startled, Gertrude’s curiosity and anxiety 
at these strange words, for the- moment quelled her anger. She 
finally said ; 

“ What are you talking about ? Nurse him I Nurse who ? ” 

“ Who ? ” cried Yates. “ Why, Arthur Arlingford, that’s who I ” 
But Gertrude did not notice his rudeness. Her face paled, and, 
bending toward him, with parted lips and wide-open eyes, she 
said, in-ia low voice, — 

“ Is he ill ? ” 

In those three words she told her secret. 

Never in his life before had Mr. Yates heard her speak like that. 
Never before had he seen that look in her eyes. It was a glimpse 
of heaven, but the door had not been opened for him. On the 
contrary, for him it opened the door of hell. And yet his passion 
was so great that to have her in this mood, to hear again the won- 
derful vibrations of her voice, to look into her moist, luminous 
eyes, to see the infinite depths of tenderness which suddenly trans- 
formed her whole body, he would have descended even lower than 
hell. As she stood thus before him so gentle, so tender, so loving, 
it was a sudden revelation of bliss such as he, even in his wildest 
dreams, had never imagined. And then a dark, wild fancy 
entered his brain, an unholy desire to seize her in his arms and 
tightly hold her soft young form until he had crushed the life out 
of it ! She would be his then, and no one could ever rob him of 
her ! For a moment he hesitated, and then with sense enough 
not to dwell upon the thought, he turned quickly away and walked 
to the window and stood there with his back towards her. 

Then Gertrude, all unwitting of her danger, began to question 
him. What did he mean ? What had he heard ? And he, hating 
himself, cursing himself, for it, instead of killing her, was weakly 

15 


226 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


forced to tell her how Arthur Arlingford had played the hero. 
Grudgingly and meagrely, in answer to her questions, he told only 
what he had to tell. 

“ I saw it in the papers,” he said, biting his nails. ‘‘ I didn't 
read it, I just glanced at it. It wasn’t anything very wonderful.” 

“ But tell me, what was it } ” said Gertrude, in the same low 
tone. 

“ A man fell off the ship into the water, and he— he got him out.” 

“ He jumped into the ocean after him ! ” said Gertrude, with a 
long breath. 

“ Yes,” said Yates, sullenly. “ But that wasn't anything. Mr. 
Moresby did the same thing last summer at Newport, and they 
didn’t make any fuss about it. But if anything happens in the 
navy, it is telegraphed all over as though it wasn’t their business 
to do that sort of thing. I’d like to know what they get paid for ! 
The country has no need for a navy, at any rate,” and much more 
he muttered to himself that was inaudible. 

“ And was he hurt } ” said Gertrude, with bated breath. “ Is 
he ill.^” 

“ I don’t know whether he is or not ! ” exclaimed Yates, 
fiercely ; “ and what’s more, I don’t care ! ” 

Then a short silence followed, at the end of which he turned 
abruptly, and, picking up his hat, strode toward the door. 

Gertrude, with a long-drawn breath, seemed like one awakening 
from a dream. “ Are you going } ” she asked, mechanically. 

Then he turned and looked at her, and she, meeting his glance, 
saw a strange look in his eyes, a look that made her heart 
stop beating. In an instant the truth flashed upon her. What 
had she done? Her head drooped, the blood flew to her face, 
and she stood before him, for the first time, guilty and ashamed. 
For the first time he had her completely at a disadvantage. It 
was a golden opportunity for Mr. Yates, but he did not under- 
stand how to use it. Gertrude, discomfited and humbled, at last 
stole a fearful, upward glance at his face. But her eyes with their 
shy, appealing expression, dropped under the hard, threatening 
gaze which met them. Pressing his thin white lips together, and 
moving his head slowly from side to side, he said, in a choked 
voice, “ I wish to God he had drowned ! ” 

Then instantly Gertrude’s embarrassment and humility vanished. 
She raised her head quickly, indignantly, her eyes flashed, and her 
lips parted ; but before she could say the words which struggled 
for utterance, the front door slammed, and Mr. Yates was gone. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


When the door closed upon Mr. Yates’ irate face, Gertrude 
sank into a chair and hid her burning face in her hands. How 
long she remained there she did not know. When she finally 
arose, with a sudden return to her surroundings, she looked at her 
watch. It was ten minutes to four. Hurrying upstairs she put 
on her hat and a light wrap, and, buttoning her gloves as she 
went, left the house. Walking rapidly until she came to Penn- 
sylvania Avenue, Gertrude slackened her pace to the ordinary 
promenade. In a few moments she saw the well-known form of 
her uncle, the major, with his military bearing, advancing toward 
her. This was the hour at which he usually returned home in the 
afternoon, a fact which Gertrude had counted on. Nevertheless 
she greeted him with a little pretence of surprise. 

“ Which way are you going ? ” said the major. He was always 
glad to see Gertrude, but he looked so especially well pleased as 
she glanced at his face that she knew she should hear that which 
she had come for. 

“ I am not going anywhere particularly,” replied Gertrude. “ I 
have been in the house all day, and I thought I would take a little 
walk. So I will walk with you, if you will let me.” 

“ I shall be delighted,” said the major, gallantly. “ Do you 
know, it seems to me. Miss Gertrude, that we see very little of 
you lately. It is hardly fair of Mr. Yates to monopolize you alto- 
gether.” 

“I don’t think it is Mr. Yates’ fault,” said Gertrude. “You 
know that auntie does not go out at all now, and I don’t like to 
leave her alone.” 

“ Yes, yes, my dear, I know,” said the major. “ I do hope 
this sea trip will do you both good. By the way, talking of 
the sea, I suppose you have heard of Master Arthur’s little ad- 
venture ? ” 

“ You must not walk so fast. Uncle Tom,” said Gertrude, “ I 
cannot keep up with you. No, I have not heard of Arthur’s 

227 


228 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


adventure ; that is, I think I did hear something of it, too. But 
what was it ? Tell me.” 

“ Well, there is not much to tell,” said the major, contradicting 
the expression of his face. “ I only know what was in the papers, 
and that was a very short telegram from Captain Topman to the 
Navy Department. Captain Topman commands the “ Comet,” you 
know, the ship that Arthur is on.” And trying his best to sup- 
press the delight and pride which beamed in his lean, sun- 
burned face, the major forthwith narrated Arthur’s rescue of 
Dudley. When he had finished he looked at Gertrude and nodded 
his head, as much as to say, “ There ! what do you think of 
that.>” 

Then she, without a word, stopped in the middle of the pave- 
ment and held out both of her hands. The major grasped them 
and held them for a moment, understanding and appreciating this 
simple reply a great deal better than if she had resorted to words. 

“ Yes, he saved him,” resumed the major, “but they both had a 
narrow escape. Captain Topman says in his report that if a light 
breeze had not sprung up and cleared away the fog, it would not 
have been possible to have rescued either of them. As it was, 
young Dudley was insensible when they were picked up. Arthur 
must have had a hard enough time, too, for when they took him 
into the boat he was utterly exhausted and lost consciousness. 
He is a very strong, powerfully built young fellow ; you know that, 
and we may be sure that it was no child’s play that made him 
faint. It seems that his arm was badly injured in some way ; I 
could not learn how. Both he and young Dudley were left at the 
hospital at Cherbourg, although Arthur’s hurt is nothing serious, 
you understand. Poor boy ! ” 

These last words were spoken by the major in an abstracted 
way, as though his thoughts had travelled across the sea to that 
Cherbourg hospital. And as the tenderness of his tone struck a 
responsive chord in Gertrude’s heart, she longed to steal her arms 
about his neck and give free vent to the tears that were silently 
gathering behind her veil. 

“ However,” added the major, resuming his former cheerful 
tone, “ from what the paper says, I have no doubt they will soon 
be up and about again. Would you like to see the account.^ I 
think I have the paper here,” and he took the journal from the 
breast pocket of his overcoat, and fixing his eye-glasses, folded 
it at the proper place, and handed it to Gertrude. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


229 


“ But I can’t read it through my veil,” said Gertrude. 

“ To be sure,” said the major, looking curiously over the rim of 
his glasses at the heavy folds which hid her face, for there was 
something in her voice which attracted his notice. “ To be sure. 
However, you can take it home with you, if you like. Perhaps it 
would interest your aunt.” 

“ I am quite sure it would," said Gertrude, “ only— don’t you 
want it ” 

“ Oh, I have no doubt I can find another copy somewhere,” said 
the major, disingenuously, for at that very moment he had a half 
dozen more copies in his coat pocket. “ W on’t you come any 
further } ” he continued, for they had stopped at the corner of the 
street on which Gertrude lived. 

“ Oh, no, thank you,” she replied hurriedly. “ It is getting late, 
and I must go back home.” Her aunt and Kate were the last 
persons she cared to see just at that moment. “Good-by, Uncle 
Tom. You ought to be very proud of your son,” she added, 
brightly, once more giving him her hand. 

“ Well, between you and me, Gertrude,” said the major with an 
air of great frankness, “ I am a little proud of the boy. Good 
night, my dear,” and as he looked after the stylish, pretty figure 
passing up the street, the major sighed regretfully. 

Meanwhile, having accomplished her purpose, Gertrude went 
directly to her own sitting-room, and shutting the door, sought 
sanctuary in her bed chamber. Throwing aside her hat and cape 
and pulling off her gloves, she seated herself at her dressing-table, 
and spreading the newspaper before her, read the article pointed 
out to her by the major. There was no more than he had told 
her, and she soon knew the few lines by heart. It was not 
enough ! She hungered for more, for more details, for more com- 
ments. She wondered, resentfully, that the paper was not full of 
the deed. It was something that the article w'as headed “ A Gal- 
lant Act ! ” But why was there not more said of it ? 

Then, with her arm resting on the table, and her chin in her 
hands, she sat staring at herself in the mirror. Staring at a vision 
of a white young face with its big, dark eyes misty with tears, and 
a rounded chin that quivered, and a trembling lower lip into which 
the pretty teeth sank ; sat staring at it but without seeing it. 

It was a long time before Gertrude finally raised her head. 
Then pressing her fingers to her eyes to dispel the tears which 
lingered there, she arose and going to the window leaned her head 


230 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


against the curtains. Long years ago when she and Arthur were 
children, they used to read together tales of chivalry and stories of 
knightly adventure, and when the end had come and Sir Knight 
had killed the dragon that was about to devour the Princess, or 
had slain the robbers who were carrying off the distressed damsel, 
Gertrude would look at him earnestly, and with eyes beaming with 
sympathy for noble deeds would say : “ You would have done 
that ? ” and he would answer, “ Yes, for you.” And child that she 
was, she was not displeased with his answer. She wondered now 
if, after it was all over, after they had brought him back to the 
ship, a hero, if he had thought of her. She wondered whether he 
was very fond of Dudley. She knew that Dudley was very fond 
of him, of course. However, after all, it would have made no dif- 
ference who it was that had fallen overboard, he would have acted 
just the same. Only she would rather it had not been Dudley, 
she would rather it had been some one he did not care anything 
about. Had he thought of her, she wondered, had he thought 
that she would be glad, that she would honor him for this deed ? 
In those old days when they were children, in those old days 
when he was her brave knight and hers alone, his first and only 
thought was what she might think. Now that all the world was 
honoring him, would he care what she might think ? And 
the tears that were so near the surface again suffused her 
eyes and her trembling lips whispered : ‘‘ Oh, my dear, you don’t 
know ! you don’t know ! ” 

Then suddenly and swiftly she went to her bedside and knelt 
down. Weeping passionately she hid her face in her hands and 
tried to pray. But words are small and weak, and there are some 
griefs they cannot lift. She tried to pray but only wept, unless, 
indeed, that can be called prayer when one bares the secrets of 
one’s heart to God, as children show their hurts, for pity, to a 
parent’s ey& 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


As the day fixed upon for Mrs. Arlingford’s departure for 
Europe drew near, that lady herself, the doctor declared, improved 
visibly in the mere anticipation. She gradually became more like 
herself, assumed control in the household, planning and arranging 
the details of the trip as she had been accustomed to do when a 
journey was undertaken in the lifetime of her husband. On the 
other hand, relieved of these irksome and distasteful duties, 
Gertrude showed but little interest in the prospective voyage 
even evincing a disinclination to talk about it. When, however, 
her aunt, in a conscience-stricken mood relapsed into melancholy 
and taxed her with sacrificing her own wishes in the matter, and, 
not without a shade of disappointment, talked of abandoning the 
project, Gertrude would not hear of it. She did not like the bother 
and worry of preparation, she said ; she would be better pleased 
when they were on the steamer, which was true enough. For 
what with contending with her own mutinous heart, and Mr. 
Yates’ sullen displeasure, she was tired and sick and longed to get 
away from it all. 

Not that Mr. Yates had troubled her as much as she had feared. 
For after their last turbulent meeting she had been a little uneasy 
as to his future conduct, and looked forward to his next visit with 
considerable apprehension. But to her surprise, when he called 
upon her the following day he seemed to have reverted to his 
hesitating, diffident manner of six months ago. And when she, in 
pursuance of a determination made the night before, bravely 
referred to the subject of their last meeting he laughed in an 
embarrassed way and got up and moved about awkwardly and 
said in a deprecating tone, “ Oh, of course, I didn’t mean any- 
thing. That’s all right ! ” and tried to turn the subject ; and in 
fact displayed so much placability as to paralyze her effort. She 
was taken by surprise; she did not understand his conduct. 
Anticipating being confronted with an angry assumption of 

231 


232 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


injured feeling, she was instead met by a show of embarrassment 
and a desire to conciliate that was bewildering. While in one 
way this was a relief, in another it oppressed her. It was a sort of 
mental drowning. When she resisted this man’s encroachments 
he receded ; when she ceased to resist, he closed over her head 
until she again struggled for supremacy. However she had made 
up her mind to have an understanding with him, and she would 
not relinquish her purpose. He had said things, had made insinu- 
ations, she told herself, that were insulting, and she did not intend 
to quietly submit to such remarks, let him be as conciliating as he 
pleased. And so, despite his disclaiming all intention to offend, 
Gertrude insisted on saying that which she had in her mind, per- 
haps more for her own satisfaction than his. 

“ Oh, well, of course, you know, I didn’t mean anything,” Mr. 
Yates repeated. “ That’s all right.” 

“ But it is not all right,” said Gertrude. “ You have no right to 
say that being engaged to you I may — may care for, or be in love 
with some one else ! ” and the guilty blood dyed her face as she 
spoke. 

“Well!” interrupted Yates loudly, “didn’t I tell you I didn’t 
mean it ! ” He did not want to quarrel, but she would force him 
to it. 

“ Then you ought not to have said it,” replied Gertrude. 
“ And as for my going to Europe to see — to meet my cousin 
Arthur—” 

“ I didn’t say that ! ” cried Yates, “ I didn’t say that ! I said 
people would say so.” 

“ Will you be kind enough to hear me out, Mr. Yates ” said 
Gertrude. “ The idea of such a thing is too absurd to think about. 
You are pleased to be jealous of me — I beg your pardon,” as 
Yates again interrupted eagerly. “ You are pleased to be jealous 
of me. And now listen to what I say ; ” and speaking with meas- 
ured tones and emphasizing her words as one who repeats a lesson 
learned by rote, she continued : “ As far as my cousin is concerned 
you have no more cause to be jealous than you have for my Uncle 
Tom, or Kate> or any of the rest of the family. We have been 
friends all our lives, but Arthur Arlingford has never done me the 
honor to ask to be anything else than a friend. What is more,” 
and injured pride flashed the fair speaker’s cheeks and lit up her 
eyes quite as successfully as injured innocence could have done, 
“ what is more, if he was to do me that honor, I should certainly 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


233 


decline it. Do you understand ? I should decline it ! Now, sir, 
if you please, we will let this subject drop, and if you ever intimate 
such a thing to me again, I shall consider it sufficient cause to 
break our engagement. Will you remember that " 

Yes, Mr, Yates would remember it, but in the delight conse- 
quent upon this unexpected, comforting avowal and reconciliation, 
he could not leave the subject, which was well enough, alone, but 
with childish eagerness sought to impress upon Gertrude the fact 
that he had no intention whatever of offending her. He did not 
mean to say that she cared anything for Arthur, he knew that per- 
fectly well. The idea was absurd ! They were friends, of course, 
that was all right, but as for anything else, he knew all along that 
Mr. Arlingford was not the sort of man that she would care any- 
thing about. And partly to reassure himself more completely, and 
partly to induce Gertrude to reiterate her pleasing statements, he 
was proceeding to enumerate Arthur’s disadvantages as a hus- 
band for any woman, when Gertrude stopped him peremptorily 
and told him that it was unnecessary to discuss the subject any 
further. 

Now while it was quite possible that Gertrude’s elaborate and 
emphatic declaration was made as much for her own benefit as it 
was for Mr. Yates’, it had the result, as has been said, of causing 
that gentleman to cease his opposition to her voyage, at least to a 
great extent. Not that he was entirely satisfied, for the effect of 
her avowal evaporated in a very few days ; but he had been rele- 
gated in a great measure to his former state of subjection, and his 
dissatisfaction found vent only in negative protests, modified by 
the recollection that he had that avowal to comfort him. He had, 
as usual, his unhappy self-communings in the privacy.of his own 
rooms, and while he was not always amiable or agreeable in Ger- 
trude’s presence, she was spared the worst of his jealous moods. 

Mrs. Arlingford nervously feared that Mr. Yates would secretly 
take passage on the same steamer and appear before them after 
they had put to sea. But in this she did him an injustice. There 
was nothing treacherous in Mr. Yates’ character ; all of his obnox- 
ious qualities were on the surface in plain view. Nevertheless 
Mrs. Arlingford was not entirely relieved of her apprehensions on 
this subject until after they were safely aboard the steamer, and 
outside of Sandy Hook ; then as no Mr. Yates appeared, her spirits 
arose and her improvement became so marked as to surprise her 
niece at the efficacy of the doctor’s prescription. 


234 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Her aunt’s restored cheerfulness was a source of great satisfac- 
tion to Gertrude. It was also a great comfort to find that Mr. 
Langdon and his father were their fellow passengers. Langdon 
was so kind and attentive, and yet so unobtrusive. 

“ I have had my' instructions,” he said, laughingly, as they 
watched the pilot go over the side and drop into his boat, which 
was soon bobbing up and down far astern of them, “ I have had 
my instructions, and they are, to do all in my power to make you 
and your aunt comfortable, and land you safe and sound in Paris. 
I have put my father on detached service with your aunt, you 
see,” indicating with his eyes where the elder Mr. Langdon was 
seated by the side of Mrs. Arlingford’s steamer chair, “ so that 
now I am entirely at your disposal.” 

Gertrude thanked him and smiling, said, “I consider myself very 
fortunate, and be sure I shall give you a — what is it they call it ? 
Not a ‘good report’ — special mention, that is it. I shall make 
special mention of you to the authorities, the authorities at 
Washington, you know.” And then they both laughed. 

Having resigned his commission in the navy and emancipated 
himself from the control of “ the authorities at Washington,” Ger- 
trude’s allusion would have seemed to the uninitiated as some- 
what inappropriate. It appears, however, that one afternoon a 
few days before Gertrude’s departure for New York, Kate had had 
a long and confidential chat with her cousin in the privacy of her 
own room. The subject of this chat was dress material, gloves 
and articles of like nature which Gertrude was to purchase for 
Kate in Paris. This important topic was varied of course by 
digressions into the prevailing Paris fashions, the best method of 
keeping kid gloves from spotting during the ocean voyage, and the 
meanness and tyranny of custom house officers. 

These meanderings of the conversation of two young women of 
a summer’s afternoon, used up that afternoon very effectually. 
Finally, exclaiming at the lateness of the hour, Kate arose to go. 
Then, as though it was an afterthought, she remarked, “ Mr. 
Langdon is going to Europe on the same steamer with you, 
Gertie ; did you know that ? ” 

“ No,” said Gertrude, “ I did not know it. That will be very 
nice.” 

“Yes,” said Kate, with a doleful sigh, “it will be very nice — 
for you. I gave him strict orders to take care of you and show 
you every attention — that is, within reason, of course.” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 235 

“ You gave him orders ! ” exclaimed Gertrude, drawing herself 
up in wonderment. 

“Yes,” said Kate, calmly, but at the same time getting near the 
door, “ / gave him orders.” 

Then Gertrude, by a clever movement, intercepted Kate, and 
taking her captive, led her back ignominiously to her seat. Plac- 
ing a hand upon each shoulder she said, “ Kate Arlingford, look 
me in the eyes ! ” 

Laughing and blushing, Kate shyly forced her soft black eyes to 
undergo Gertrude’s scrutiny, just for an instant. But that instant 
was quite sufficient for Gertrude’s purpose. Kneeling on the car- 
pet by her side, she stole an arm around Kate’s neck and caressed 
her and whispered congratulations after the tender fashion of 
women on such occasions. 

Perhaps the thoughts of both were busy with a similar event 
that had occurred but a few weeks before, when Kate had refused 
to congratulate Gertrude : certainly Kate’s thoughts were. But 
returning her cousin’s caresses, she presently whispered, “ Say, 
Gertrude ! ” 

“ Say, Katie ! replied that young lady. 

“ You won’t flirt with him, will you ? ” 

Whereat Gertrude laughed and said : “ Flirt with him ! I only 
hope he won’t be too utterly wretched to speak to me.” 

And this was how it was that Mr. Langdon still received his 
orders from Washington. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


“ And now, my dear,” said the Countess de Beaugarde, “ tell 
me of your Jia7ice, that happy Mr. Yates. Ah, you perceive I 
know all! Fortunate that he is. Is he tall or short? He is 
young, no ? And he has riches ? Eh, that is well. But tell me 
of him yourself.” And settling herself comfortably in her chair, 
the cheery old lady folded her little white wrinkled hands, and with 
her head on one side, regarded Gertrude with much interest. 

It was the day after their arrival in Paris. Mrs. Arlingford and 
Gertrude were seated with madame, whose guests they were, in 
her own especial room in the Hotel de Beaugarde. The moment 
that the countess had heard from her nephew. Major Arlingford, 
that his sister-in-law and her niece were about to visit Paris, she 
had urged them to make their home with her. “ I am alone,” 
she said in her letter to them, “and it will be the kindness to me 
if you come. And that lovely child, Gertrude ! I remember her 
well, and am impatient to behold her once again. I beg of you 
not to refuse, but to accept my invitation, without ceremony.” 

And Mrs. Arlingford, glad to escape the discomforts of a French 
hotel, had accepted the invitation without ceremony. There was 
a sense of peace and rest in the old house, in which everything 
was solid and real. Life there, was in neutral tints, as though 
time had subdued it along with the cumbersome splendor of the 
fittings, the huge mirrors with their marvellous gilt frames, and 
the carvings and stucco of the time of Louis XVI. Dismal, 
Beaugarde called it ; peaceful, Mrs. Arlingford found it. 

When Gertrude came down to dinner the evening of their first 
day, the countess met her at the door of the drawing-room and 
taking both of her hands held her for a moment at arms’ length, 
while she scanned her face. “ Ah ! ” she said, “ how beautiful it 
is to be young and lovely I ” And then embracing her she 
whispered mysteriously : “He must be proud, truly. But,” she 
continued, patting Gertrude on the shoulder, “ I wish not to make 
you embarrassed, or to blush.” 

236 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


237 


The truth of the matter was that Gertrude was not in the least 
embarrassed, nor did her cheeks show any sign of color. But it 
pleased the old lady to think that these appropriate symptoms 
were not wanting. She delighted in romance. Her own exist- 
ence had been very commonplace. She had never had a love 
affair, not even with the man she had married. So that this 
young and pretty Gertrude who was going to marry the man she 
loved, formed a living romance which interested her greatly. 
She never doubted that Gertrude’s was a veritable love affair. 
Women married only for love in that wonderful America, that 
delightful America, so at least Madame Arlingford, the major’s 
wife, had told her. And the countess never doubted but that 
Gertrude’s heart fluttered and her pulse quivered at each reference 
to her betrothed. How charming that w’as ! And she could not 
refrain from striking these imaginary tender chords in the girl’s 
nature, at every opportunity. She was devoured with impatience 
to hear all the details, what this love was like, how they had met, 
these lovers, what he had said and what Gertrude had replied. 
She understood that such matters were regulated very differently 
in America from what they were in France. She had been told 
that the American demoiselle was not only permitted to select the 
man she would marry, but was even allowed to meet him alone. 
It was even said that she went with him to the balls, the theatres, 
unattended! Ft done! C'est une chose inconcevable ! The 
countess did not believe that ! In her secret heart she did not, in 
fact, approve of any of the American methods ; she preferred the 
customs which had made her own life barren. But if the social 
manners in America were somewhat shocking, it made their 
description only the more interesting. And so at the first oppor- 
tunity which etiquette granted her, the countess broached the 
subject. 

She was destined, however, to meet with disappointment, for 
Gertrude not only failed to show any of those delicious signs of 
confusion, but actually seemed as indifferent as some young 
demoiselle whose husband had been chosen for her in the conven- 
tional French method. 

“ Now tell me of this happy Mr. Yates,” said the countess, as 
they sat in her own private apartment ; and she settled herself 
comfortably in her chair, and, with her head on one side, prepared 
to listen. 

“ But there is so little to tell,” replied Gertrude, smiling. 


238 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ Ah ! ” said the countess, with an arch look, “ that is, you will 
not make to me your confidence ? But at the least, you will con- 
fess that he is handsome, no?’’ 

Whereat Gertrude laughed and shook her head. “No,” she 
said, “ I don’t think he is handsome.” 

“ Is it that he is fair like you, or dark ? ” 

“ Well,” said Gertrude, “ he is more brun than blond ; that is, 
his complexion is dark and his hair is dark.” 

“ And his eyes ? ” said madame with great interest, “ what 
color have they ? ” 

“ I think his eyes are gray ; aren’t they, auntie ? ” said Ger- 
trude, turning toward that lady. 

“ But you do not know, yourself ? ” exclaimed madame, with 
comic amazement. “ Incredible ! ” 

Whereat Gertrude laughed, and then said apologetically. 
“ Well, he has gray eyes, I know.” 

“ Ah,” said the countess, shaking her forefinger at Gertrude ; 
“ I see you make a pretence of ignorance. Tell me — But I 
weary you with-my foolish questions, is it not so? ” 

“ Not at all,” said Gertrude, with eager frankness. “ I will be 
only too happy to tell you all about him.” Then arousing herself 
to a show of interest, she continued : “ He is about thirty-five 
years old and is dark, with black hair and gray eyes.” 

“ And he is tall.” said the countess ; “ tali, with the grand air, 
like our dear Arthur ? ” 

“No,” replied Gertrude; “he is not as tall as my cousin 
Arthur.” 

“ But he is too tall, that Arthur,” said the countess, disparag- 
ingly. For there was that in Gertrude’s reply which made her 
rebuke herself. “ Undoubtedly this M. Yates is small,’’ she said 
to herself. “ Stupid that I am ! And the dear child is sensitive 
about it ! ” 

“ Well,” said Gertrude ; “ I can’t think of anything else to tell 
you of him. You see I have known him all my life.” 

“ Truly ! ” exclaimed the countess, as though that accounted 
satisfactorily for Gertrude’s limited knowledge of the gentleman. 

“ Yes, indeed,” replied Gertrude, “ ever since I was a little child. 
He is my guardian, or trustee. Which is it. Aunt Mary ? ” 

Mrs. Arlingford who had sat silently by, taking no part in this 
conversation, replied, “Trustee, my dear, the trustee of your 
fortune.” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


239 


“Yes,” said Gertrude, nodding her head: “that is it. He is 
the trustee of my fortune.” 

“Truly!” again said the countess. Then with a shade of dis- 
appointment in her tone, she continued, “ Without doubt, then, 
this alliance has been arranged for you by your aunt, as is the 
custom in our country. Ah, my dear, that is best, after all. For 
who should be entrusted with so important a matter as a young 
girl’s future, if not those who by reason of their affection and 
wisdom are most fit for that sacred duty ? ” 

“ But you are mistaken, dear madame,” said Gertrude, smiling 
and shaking her head as she looked at her aunt. “ My aunt did 
not arrange it. I arranged it all myself.” And reaching out her 
hand with a smile she laid it on the withered fingers that were 
clasped in Mrs. Arlingford’s lap. 

“ There is something here,” said the countess to herself. “ They 
do not wish to talk of the matter.” And though the mystery 
enhanced her interest she was too well bred to pursue the subject. 
“I remember well when you were but a little child,” she said, 
changing the subject, with tact ; “ when you and our dear Kate 
were with the good sisters of the Sacrd Cceur, and you came 
to make me a visit on the afternoon of Saturdays. My son Henri, 
he would say to tease you, that you were his little wife. But you 
said, ‘ No, with grand indignation, you would marry no one but 
an American ! So you see, you keep your word. And that is 
very well. My sister married an American, as you know. That 
is her picture I showed you last night. How much it is like our 
dear Kate, is it not But I declare to you, when our young mid- 
shipman, Monsieur Arthur, came to me a few weeks ago, it was as 
though that tall gentleman from America had come once again to 
carry my sister across the seas. He is so like his grandfather, is 
that dear Arthur. Ah, he was a very handsome man, with the 
grand air ! ” And the countess straightened her back and held 
her head erect in illustration of Master Arthur’s grandpapa. 

“ I am surprised that Arthur has not been here to see us,” said 
Mrs. Arlingford, with an effort at conversation. “ How long has 
he been in Paris, madame } ” 

“ It makes now one month,” replied the countess. “ I had a great 
desire that he should come here to my house, for is he not the 
grandchild of my dear sister.^ His friend, too. Monsieur Dudley, 
he also would have been welcome. But he feared to inconvenience 
me, and my son tells me that it is more pleasant for them to have 


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apartments elsewhere. And so,” said the countess, with a little 
sigh,” “ I do not see him often. But then, what will you ? ” she 
added, brightly. “ He is a young man, and in Paris a young man 
has other occupations than talking to an old woman like me. My 
son, he is with him frequently, and he tells me, too, that Arthur 
devotes much of his time to his friend Monsieur Dudley. That 
poor young man has a severe malady of the lungs, which of late 
confines him to his bed. He is very fortunate to have so devoted 
a friend as Arthur, who makes the leap into the water at great 
hazard to save his life, and then nurses him so carefully.” 

At this point, Beaugarde himself appeared. “ May I come in ? ” 
he said, gayly, holding aside the curtain which draped the door- 
way. 

“ Ah, my son, we have been talking of you,” said the count- 
ess. 

“ I am greatly flattered,” said Beaugarde, bowing to the ladies, 
while he tenderly raised his mother’s hand to his lips. 

“ But there is no need,” said that lady, “ for it was I, your 
mother, alone, who talked of you.” 

“ Then am I more flattered than ever,” said her son, seating him- 
self on an ottoman by her side. 

“ You see he practises his pretty speeches upon me,” said the 
countess to Mrs. Arlingford, at the same time laying an affection- 
ate hand on her son’s shoulder, with a pleased look. “ Have you 
seen our cousin Arthur, this morning ? ” she continued. “ And 
why has he not been to pay his devoirs to madame, his aunt ! ” 

“ I am the bearer of a message from him,” replied Beaugarde, 
addressing Mrs. Arlingford in French, for unlike his mother he 
was unable to sustain conversation in English. “I went with 
madame’s friend. Monsieur Langdon, to tell our cousin Arthur 
that she and mademoiselle had arrived. I find him sitting in a 
chair smoking his cigar, and he tells me calmly that he has been 
sitting there all night. In fact, he had not been to bed for two 
nights. The doctor says that the little Dudley must not be left 
alone, so there he sits, our good friend Arthur. I say to him, 
‘ But why do you not hire a nurse ? ’ But no, he will not.” 

“ Is Mr. Dudley so very ill } ” asked Gertrude. 

“ Ma foi ! yes,” said Beaugarde, with a slight shrug of his 
shoulders. “ He has had the hemorrhage of the lungs, and that 
is the danger. He must not be left alone, and so I, myself, go to 
sit with him this evening, and Monsieur Arthur presents his com- 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


241 


pliments to madame his aunt, and will have the honor to call upon 
her and mademoiselle at eight o’clock.” 

From all of which it will be seen that Monsieur de Beaugarde 
had not failed to act the part of a friend to Monsieur Arthur, and 
that while much was said of his constancy at the bedside of his 
sick friend, nothing had been said of midnight suppers, of icarte, 
irente et qiiara7itey and roulette, nothing had been said of la 
belle Cleopatre. So true it is that one may tell the truth and not 
shame the devil. 

“ We shall be very glad to see Arthur,” replied Mrs. Arlingford. 
“ I am sorry that his friend is so sick, and it is very kind of you, 
monsieur, to go to so much trouble on his account.” 

“ Ah, not at all, madame, not at all,” replied Beaugarde ; “ on 
the contrary, I assure you, it is a pleasure.” 

“ But, auntie, dear,” here interposed Gertrude quietly, “ did I 
not understand you to say that you had accepted Mrs. Bellew’s 
invitation for to-night? ” 

“ Yes, that is true,” said Mrs. Arlingford, looking at Gertrude, 
doubtfully, “ so I did. I am afraid we shall have to ask Arthur 
to defer his visit until to-morrow,” she continued. “ I am very 
sorry, too.” 

“ It is unfortunate,” said Beaugarde. “ However, if madame 
desires, I will myself see Arthur and explain the matter to him.” 

After the usual regrets and protestations, it was so arranged. 
This, the kind reader will remember, was the night appointed by 
Mrs. Merrin for her meeting with Arthur at the ball. It will further 
be remembered that Beaugarde afterward discovered that he also 
had an engagement, and that he accordingly contented himself 
with sending Arthur a note, which the latter did not receive until 
it was too late for him to arrange matters to suit his own conven- 
ience. 

Now there was no reason why Arthur should not have made 
his visit to his aunt that evening. There was ample time for him 
to pay his respects before the ladies’ departure, a fact which every 
one present understood quite well. Therefore it was that both 
the countess and her son construed Gertrude’s remark as an intima- 
tion to her cousin that she did not desire to see him. Monsieur 
de Beaugarde whispered to himself, “ She has heard of our friend 
Arthur’s little affair, and she will not receive him. Aha ! ” 
While the countess, remembering Arthur’s manner when she had 
informed him some six weeks before, that his aunt and cousin 
16 


242 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


were coming to Paris, his regret that he would not be able to 
remain to see them, his reticence about Gertrude's engagement, 
and his noticeable constraint when conversing about them, said to 
herself, with the air of one making a discovery, “ Ah ! Is it be- 
cause of our brave, handsome cousin, that mademoiselle forgets 
the color of her fiance s eyes ? ” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


It will be remembered that it was on the day following the 
events narrated in the last chapter, that Paris was served with the 
scandal of Mrs. Merrin’s elopement. In the American colony, 
the news was received with an indignant cry of “ Did I not tell 
you so ? ” If, as La Rochefoucald says, we feel a certain satis- 
faction in the misfortunes of our best friends, the disasters which 
befall those who have scorned our advice and predictions are not 
less gratifying. For does it not prove the superiority of our own 
morality, of our wisdom? Was not our warning unheeded and 
advice flouted ? And now, behold, how true was our judgment ! 
Nay, more, does it not prove the purity of our motives, which 
some light-minded people saw fit to question ? It was not envy 
of this wretched woman’s superb dresses, nor jealousy of the 
homage she received, that called forth our denunciations ; it was 
simply a regard for her body and soul. Although, for that mat- 
ter, her dressing was not so very admirable. Any woman with a 
complexion like hers, who would wear orange — well ! The men 
she associated with might like it, but we know what kind of men 
they were ! 

“ Have you heard ? ” said, the Countess de Beaugarde to Mrs. 
Arlingford. “ Have you heard of this affair of your country- 
woman, this scandal ? Ah, I feel very sad, myself, when I hear 
of such things.” 

“ Of whom do you speak, madame ? ” said Mrs. Arling- 
ford. 

‘‘Pardon me,” said the countess, as she glanced at Gertrude, 
who sat in another part of the room, reading. “ I thought you 
were informed of it. It is of this Madame Merrin. And you 
have not heard ? ” 

At the sound of that name Gertrude suddenly raised her head 
from the book which gave her a pretext for not talking. Mrs. 
Merrin! She had forgotten that she was in Paris. And now 
what of her ? Every nerve in her body was on the alert, as she 

243 


244 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


heard her aunt say, in her usual placid tone, “ No, we have not 
heard. What of her ? ” Yes, quick ! What of her? 

“ She has abandoned her husband," said the countess. “ She 
has eloped.” 

“ Eloped ! " said Mrs. Arlingford, severely. “ I wonder if that 
can be the same woman who was at Newport last year. A dark, 
rather handsome person. I remember that she created a great 
deal of talk by the way she encouraged the promiscuous atten- 
tions of men. I expect it is the same one. Whom did she elope 
with, madame ? ” 

And Gertrude, with the blood stagnant in her veins and her 
breath suspended, listened to her aunt’s mild surprise as one may 
listen, after the lightning’s flash, to the patter of the rain, ere the 
crash of the thunder comes. Was it Arthur ? Absurd ! How 
could it be i 

“ She has eloped with a Monsieur, — you know him not. 
Monsieur le Comte de Carambole," replied the countess. “ Ah, 
he is a bad man, the Comte de Carambole, a rou^. I knew his 
father; he was the same. Soon he will grow weary, he will 
leave her, and then ’’ — a shrug of the countess’ shoulder left 
nothing more to be said. 

At the mention of that unknown name, the blood once more 
coursed through Gertrude’s veins, sending a warm flush to the 
roots of her hair, and bringing with it an unmistakeable sensation 
of joy. Leaving her seat, she stood in the shade of the heavy 
window curtains, out of hearing of her aunt and the countess. 
She had heard enough. This woman who had been so shameless 
had at last betrayed her real character to the world. She was 
glad of it. For a few moments, in the tumult of her emotions, 
she did not ask herself why. She tried to think that it was for 
the sake of justice. 

Then, after a while, she faced the truth. She was glad because 
a radiant doubt had entered her mind, a doubt whether Arthur 
had ever had any affection for Mrs. Merrin. That Mrs. Merrin 
had had some sort of claim upon Arthur she could not doubt, but 
that he had loved her or even cared for her she did now begin to 
doubt, otherwise would she have eloped with another man ? No, 
never! In the light of this reasoning all the well-remembered 
incidents in which Mrs. Merrin had figured, changed their appear- 
ance. That night at the Carleton ball when she had, with an 
impertinent glance at her, Gertrude, claimed Arthur for a dance. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


245 


he had not looked pleased; on the contrary, his manner had 
instantly become cold and reserved. At Newport, too, though he 
had remained by Mrs. Merrin’s side, his expression had not indi- 
cated satisfaction ; he had not danced with her, while the glances 
Mrs. Merrin had cast at Gertrude betrayed that she was taking a 
malicious triumph in retaining him. And Gertrude restlessly 
paced the floor in excitement, as this line of argument unfolded 
itself. As for the assertion in the anonymous letter that Arthur 
was very attentive to Mrs. Merrin in Naples, was not that dis- 
proved by the fact that here, in Paris, he was devoting himself 
exclusively to nursing his sick friend, while she was receiving the 
shameful attentions of this Frenchman.? Might not that letter 
have been written by some equally malicious person ? Stop ! 
Might it not have been written by Mrs. Merrin herself ? It was 
of a piece with the rest of her conduct! The note was in a 
woman’s hand ! It was postmarked Paris ! Conviction followed 
on the thought. Of course it was written by Mrs. Merrin ] Why 
had she never thought of that before ? 

With a heart lighter than it had been since the terrible day on 
which she had received that letter, Gertrude stood transfixed in 
the middle of the room, with her hands clasped, her lips half 
parted, her cheeks glowing, and her eyes sparkling. This, then, 
was the secret of it all ! But what could have been Mrs. Merrin’s 
motive for such a malicious act ? What had she, Gertrude, done 
to incur such bitter enmity ? There could be but one answer, 
Mrs. Merrin must have desired to create a breach between them. 
But why? — gradually a smile lit up Gertrude’s face, her eyes 
sought the floor, and the color in her face deepened. Alas for 
Mr. Yates ! 

Having once admitted a doubt, Gertrude threw the door wide 
open to conviction. Arthur stood before her absolved. She 
even tried to make atonement for the wrong she had done him, 
and, clothing his figure in the very whitest garments of innocence, 
she refused to consider the nature of the bond between him and 
Mrs. Merrin, which had controlled his actions. She was as quick 
now to free him from all suspicion as she had been before to con- 
demn him. Nor was she inconsistent. She had found him 
guilty because she loved him, and she now found him innocent 
for the same reason. 

But Arthur did not come to reap the benefit of his absolution. 
Neither that day, nor the next, nor the next. Gertrude heard of 


246 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


him frequently, for Monsieur de Beaugarde, who had grown 
surprisingly filial lately and called to see his mother once, twice, 
and sometimes three times during the twenty-four hours, had 
always a word to say of Arthur, and always that word was that 
he was in attendance on Monsieur Dudley. But Mr. Dudley was 
not so ill now that Arthur could not leave him. Why did he not 
come } Was he offended because they had postponed his first 
visit With her heart filled with a desire to make reparation, to 
re-establish their footing, once more, as old friends — nothing- 
more, Gertrude suggested to her aunt one morning when they 
were riding alone in the Beaugarde carriage, that propriety 
demanded that they should take some little notice of Arthur and 
his sick friend. To this Mrs. Arlingford readily agreed, as she 
agreed in these latter days to anything that Gertrude suggested. 
This first courteou-s visit of inquiry resulted, as the reader knows, 
in the invalid being carried off for a drive, and afterwards in 
Arthur himself being one of the party. 

The day that Arthur called on them to acknowledge these 
courtesies, Gertrude happened to be out shopping with some 
friends, and her aunt had seen him alone. When, within the 
week, their carriage had stopped at Arthur’s rooms to take Dud- 
ley to the Bois, Arthur, after placing the invalid in the carriage, 
had pleaded an engagement in reply to his aunt’s invitation to 
join them, and begged to be excused, and so they had driven off 
without him. This had angered Gertrude. She had come to 
him filled with gracious kindly feelings of their old-time friend- 
ship, and he had not responded in a becoming spirit, he had 
rejected her advances. Well, one thing was certain, he would 
not have another opportunity. And, during that second ride, 
although she forced herself to talk to Dudley, the changing color, 
the sparkling eyes, and the animation she had displayed on the 
previous occasion were absent. 

A week afterward, Arthur and Dudley had left the city. As 
Gertrude stood in the hall after her return from making some 
visits, and received their P. P. C. cards from the footman, all the 
light and life of the place seemed suddenly quenched, leaving her 
alone and lonely, with no object in being in Paris or anywhere 
else. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


It had been Mrs. Arlingford’s intention, when planning this 
visit to Europe, to remain a week in London, about three weeks in 
Paris, and then to spend a couple of months travelling in Italy and 
Switzerland. Her object in making what was, at this time of the 
year, a long stay in Paris, was to consult a physician, an eminent 
specialist, in regard to her prolonged illness. 

Since her husband’s death Mrs. Arlingford’s symptoms were 
not particularly distressing and certainly not alarming. And her 
physician while talking with apparent frankness was careful not to 
frighten her by dwelling too seriously on the subject, deceiving 
her, in fact, as to the dangerous nature of the malady he sus- 
pected. Mrs. Arlingford not only permitted herself to be 
deceived, but in her own mind arrived at the conclusion that she 
was suffering from some slight affection of the lungs, which, with 
care, would pass away. After the nervous prostration resulting 
from her final interview with Mr. Yates, however, Mrs. Arlingford 
became alarmed about herself, and again summoned her physi- 
cian. An elaborate examination convinced him that his first 
apprehensions were well founded, and that the unfortunate lady 
was affected with incipient aneurism. Feeling it to be a matter of 
duty, he revealed to her, with much precaution and delicacy, the 
nature of the malady and its probable result. She bore the dis- 
closure with firmness, but eagerly assented to the doctor’s sugges- 
tion that she should go abroad and consult a celebrated French 
physician, conceiving the most sanguine hopes as to his ability and 
skill. The mere fact of his being a foreigner, and of her having to 
go abroad to consult him, brought with it an assurance of relief. 
At the same time, like many people who carry the seeds of a fatal 
disease, Mrs. Arlingford was averse to having her real condition 
known. She dreaded the sympathetic pressure of friendly hands, 
and the condoling gaze of acquaintances. And so the doctor, 
humoring his patient, helped her to conceal not only from Ger- 
trude, but from most of her relatives, the nature of her illness, 

247 


248 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


and gave his advice in regard to the sea voyage in such an appar- 
ently unpremeditated way, as to avoid suspicion of having any 
other object in view than the cure of a slight indisposition by 
change of scene and air. Cheered and encouraged by the pros- 
pect, Mrs. Arlingford's spirits arose with the arrangements for the 
voyage, and she arrived in Paris prepared for the announcement 
that she had allowed herself to become unnecessarily frightened. 
Unfortunately for these hopes, the French physician could do no 
more than confirm the opinion expressed by his Washington col- 
league, and being a busy man, his decision was brief and bare of 
those comforting assurances with which the old family physician 
had clothed his announcement. Was it advisable for madame 
and her niece to continue their travels on the continent } N-no, 
he thought not. While madame’s malady was not necessarily 
fatal, it was better not to take chances. Nature sometimes of its 
own volition repaired the mischief which had occurred, but, to 
enable nature to do this, quiet and the comforts of home were 
indispensable. 

So, then ! It was as bad as that. She must not continue her 
travels, lest she leave Gertrude alone in a strange country, under 
distressing conditions. And Mrs. Arlingford departed from the 
doctor's presence looking ten years older than when she had 
entered it. On her way back to the Hotel de Beaugarde, the 
recollection that but a few months before she had prayed that she 
might die, obtruded itself upon her mind. But now, in the light 
of the tragic possibility, the recollection, instead of comforting her, 
seemed to mock her. 

Even her husband's name and Gertrude’s sacrifice and unhappy 
prospects paled before this drama, wherein she, herself, must 
enact the principal part. For two days she was frightened, silent, 
and unsympathetic. Then she slowly began to regain her dis- 
turbed equanimity. She began to reason with herself. Why 
should not she at sixty-three years of age, be ready to go, espe- 
cially when her death would enable her to reimburse Mr. Yates, 
right the wrong done by her husband, and shield his name with- 
out peradventure ; and at least help to right the wrong she was 
doing Gertrude ? The more she meditated, the better she became 
accustomed to the prospect, until she was almost reconciled. 
Almost, because she herself was not aware that, as the grim ver- 
dict of the French physician became softened by time, her resigna- 
tion partook largely of reawakened hope. Had he not said that 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


249 


nature might repair the damage done ? If it was not for Ger- 
trude — ah ! It would have been better for Gertrude if she had 
died two years ago, she told herself. But would even her death 
indubitably free her from these toils ? The money inherited from 
her father, of which she could touch only the interest, she could 
devise to whom she pleased, but would the payment of Gertrude’s 
misappropriated fortune dissolve her compact with Mr. Yates? 
No, he had fulfilled his promise; if she violated hers in an 
attempt, even after her death, to frustrate his hopes, he would be 
at liberty to publish her husband’s dishonor to the world. So she 
reasoned and pleaded with herself. 

In any event it was necessary for her to tell Gertrude of her 
changed plans in regard to their future movements. She had pro- 
crastinated from day to day, until she felt she could no longer 
encroach upon the Comtesse de Beaugarde’s hospitality. Should 
she tell her the truth about her illness ? She shrank from making 
the disclosure. She shrank from the alarm, the sympathy which 
would follow. But it would be better to tell her the truth. And 
so one day, it was about two weeks after Arthur’s departure, Mrs. 
Arlingford made the disclosure to Gertrude, not to its full extent, 
but sufficiently to warrant the proposition of their return. For, 
as she saw the color leaving Gertrude’s face and the alarm coming 
into her eyes, she gradually belittled the gravity of the situation 
and exaggerated its hopefulness. But it was useless, for Ger- 
trude, sinking to her knees, clasped her fingers in her aunt’s lap, 
and, looking up at her through frightened eyes, exclaimed, “ O 
auntie, dear, for God’s sake, don’t you leave me ! ” And then 
hiding her face in her hands, gave way to tears. 

Mrs. Arlingford was greatly distressed and surprised. Sur- 
prised, because, although she had anticipated some show of 
sorrow and anxiety, such a passionate outburst as this seemed 
scarcely warranted by her guarded confession. While she was 
touched by the depth of affection it betrayed, Gertrude’s despair 
was rather depressing. In fact, it irritated her ; one would think, 
from the girl’s manner, that she was going to die immediately. 
Laying her wrinkled hands on the golden head bowed in her lap, 
she tried to reason with Gertrude, but all to no purpose. “ If you 
die, I want to die, too ! ” sobbed Gertrude. “ I don’t want to be 
left all alone.” 

“ But, my darling, you will not be left all alone ; you will have 
many to love you and care for you, even if I should go.” Then, 


250 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


as Gertrude shook her head, she continued, “ Besides, you ex- 
aggerate the danger. The doctor says I may live for years, and I 
may even recover. There, there, my dear ! ” And, drawing Ger- 
trude to her bosom, she petted and soothed her in her hesitating, 
unaccustomed way. “ There, there ! ” she said, “ don’t cry any 
more, there’s a good girl ! You distress me so.” 

Gertrude arose, and, drying her eyes, looked at her aunt with a 
brave smile, and said, “ I don’t know what makes me such a 
baby. I don’t believe there is any more danger of your dying than 
there is of me. I never saw you look better. I won’t be so silly 
again.” 

“ And you won’t be disappointed if we give up the trip to Italy 
and return home ? ” said Mrs. Arlingford. 

“ No, indeed,” said Gertrude, “ I think I would rather return 
home.” 

What had she to remain for? She had looked forward to see- 
ing Arthur, to renewing, may be, their old friendship ; and he had 
gone, gone without one kind word ; gone, almost it seemed, 
because she had come. What was Paris to her, or Italy? What 
was any place to her ? No, she would rather return home, return 
home and marry the man to whom she was engaged. There was 
something in the desperate, irrevocable nature of this proceeding 
that alone .seemed to promise relief. She longed to be taken 
from herself, changed into another woman. Would not her 
marriage do that for her ? When the minister of the gospel 
pronounced the mystical formula which made her a wife, would 
not a change take place in her, bringing with it all the require- 
ments necessary for the proper fulfilment of the new and sacred 
character? Yes, without doubt, and with it would come peace 
and rest. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


It was with a shower of protest that the Comtesse de Beau- 
garde received her guest’s intimation of approaching departure. 
She declared herself prostrated by their determination, just as they 
had become indispensable to her happiness. And that dear 
Gertrude, too ! In truth the amiable little Woman had become 
very fond of Gertrude, notwithstanding the failure of her romance. 
At the same time her regret was not unalloyed. Monsieur le 
Vicomte, her son, had also become an evident admirer of Ger- 
trude, and showed an alarming disposition to manufacture a little 
romance of his own. Madame loved and admired the beautiful 
young American, but she could not with equanimity regard her as 
a daughter-in-law. True the countess’ sister had married an 
American gentleman, but that was another thing from the heir 
of the house of Beaugarde marrying beneath his station. That 
made her tremble ! She never for a moment doubted Monsieur 
Henri’s ability to supplant “c-? petit Monsieur Yetts.” And 
so, though it was with sorrow that she saw her guests depart, the 
countess was not inconsolable. 

As for Beaugarde himself, he did not consider it necessary or 
desirable to make a confidante of his mother on his return from 
Havre, whither he had accompanied the ladies. In fact his 
mother saw very little of him during the next six months. He 
became once more a familiar figure on the boulevard and in the 
foyer of the opera, while the number of cigarettes he consumed 
was remarkable. At the end of that time, showing a disposition to 
moralize over the vanity of champagne frappe and young women 
with abbreviated names and reputations, his mother took advan* 
tage of his mood to arrange for him an alliance with a young lady 
of his own station, whom within a year he married. 

It was with real regret that Gertrude took her leave of Arthur’s 
friend and cousin after their arrival at Havre. Beaugarde had 
thoughtfully secured for her and her aunt a stateroom on the 
upper deck, and to this retreat Gertrude now betook herself. 

251 


252 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Quickly abandoning her dispirited attempt at preparing the room 
for the voyage, she gave herself up to melancholy thoughts. 
Her aunt’s illness, her own approaching loveless marriage, brooded 
darkly in her heart, and she found little relief in the tears which 
overflowed her eyes. 

At last she sought the side of the steamer and listlessly watched 
the busy crowd of sailors, dock hands, emigrants and cabin 
passengers thronging the ship and wharf, jostling each other and 
adding to the din of creaking tackles, ringing bells, and whistles, 
by their bawling and chattering, laughing and crying. A burst of 
music from a band on shore broke in upon her dejected musing 
with a jarring sound, and by some untraceable connection filled 
her breast with a sudden foreboding of disaster. The din in- 
creased, orders followed, and the sailors rushed hither and thither 
throwing ropes around and hustling the emigrants about with little 
ceremony. Slowly the tears fell from Gertrude’s eyes and she 
drew down her veil to hide her emotion. The few, last, tardy 
passengers hurried along the gang plank, and then — then her 
heart seemed to stop beating, for there among them was Arthur 
Arlingford ! Could it be possible or had her fancy conjured up 
the image to delude her eyes ? With a quick movement she 
raised her veil and gazed breathlessly into the crowd. Yes, it was 
Arthur, and there was Dudley, just behind him, and with them an 
elderly lady dressed in black, whom she recognized as Mrs. 
Dudley. In an instant memory recalled the fact that Dudley had 
told her he was expecting his mother. Evidently she had come 
and was taking him home. This was the explanation. But 
Arthur.^ Was he going too? Her heart beat wildly at the 
thought. But, no, that was impossible, for he had said that he 
intended to rejoin his ship. He had only come to Havre to see 
them off, that was all. Of course, that was all. And this she 
kept repeating to herself, to quell the tumult in her heart. Then 
as the little party descended into the cabin and Arthur did not 
immediately return, her agitation increased. Could he be going 
after all ! Oh, if the ship would only leave now ! She did not 
pause to think or reason with herself. Duty, responsibility, moral 
obligations, all were swept away in the sudden rush of feeling. If 
he only might be on the ship with her during this voyage that 
she had so dreaded, just that and no more. His presence brought 
such comfort and safety. The preparations for departure which 
before had outstripped her wishes, could not now keep pace with 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


253 


her desire. Her fingers moved nervously in unison with the work 
about her. If she could have lent her feeble aid to haul upon the 
ropes she would have given her dainty hands to the labor. Sud- 
denly her heart sank, for Arthur had reappeared on deck. 
Sauntering leisurely to the side of the ship, he paused very near 
her, and drawing his travelling cap down over his eyes, he stood 
with his hands in his pockets, staring at the shore. Evidently he 
had no intention of returning to it. He was her fellow-passen- 
ger. 

A great sense of peace and happiness filled Gertrude’s heart 
like a flood of sunshine, replacing with warmth and light the 
coldness and darkness that had chilled her spirit a moment ago. 
She leaned back in her chair with a delightful feeling of perfect 
rest and contentment. As she kily watched him with happy 
assurance, Arthur turned away with a sigh, which found an echo 
in her breast. Then as he was about to resume his walk, his eyes 
met hers. He started, and with a swift change of expression 
exclaimed: “ You! Yon here f” 

“ Yes,” said Gertrude, I am here.” And then, slowly extend* 
ing her hand, she added : “ Are you glad ? ” 

She intended the words to be a commonplace renewal of their 
old intimate tone of friendship. 

He took the little -white hand in his broad palm and looked 
down at it for a few seconds. Finally raising his eyes he let them 
meet hers. At first she returned his gaze, frankly, then the color 
left her face, and she withdrew her hand. 

She had her answer. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


“ It’s funny, isn’t it ? ” said Curley, glancing up from the kite 
he was making. 

“ What is funny ” said Gertrude. 

“ Why, that we should happen to get on the same ship,” replied 
Curley. 

“I don’t see anything very funny about it,” said Gertrude. 
“ Aren’t you putting on too much tail for such a little kite ? ” 

It was the third day out. A warm summer day, with the blue 
sky above and the blue water beneath, and between, the bright, 
sunny deck, blotched with bits of color here and there where ladies 
reclined in their steamer chairs, reading, flirting in an indolent way, 
or gazing out over the water, while the men leaned over their chairs 
or sat at their feet, assisting in these different occupations, or varied 
the monotony by pacing the deck amidships, smoking and chatting 
among themselves. The process of social crystallization, aided by 
fine weather and a smooth sea, was progressing rapidly, forming a 
miniature world afloat. Affinities were found or created, and 
before two suns had set, life, for all temporary purposes, seemed 
never to have been passed in any other way than in a ship. 

During the remainder of that first day of his unexpected meeting 
with Gertrude, Arthur had bestowed upon his aunt and cousin 
that care and attention which the circumstances demanded. In a 
dozen little ways he utilized his seafaring experience to increase 
their comfort. But while his thoughtfulness for them betrayed to 
the acute observer a certain tenderness, his manner was studiously 
grave and constrained. He made no attempt to win Gertrude’s 
confidence or companionship. On the contrary, he refrained from 
utilizing opportunities to renew their intimacy, and after attending 
to her wants in the way of chairs, cushions, wraps and the like 
withdrew to his own solitary pastimes. Gertrude, on the other 
hand, had never seemed so light-hearted. She was like the spirit 
of the summer day. The bright, blue sky was reflected in her 
eyes, the liquid sound of the plashing waters was echoed in her 

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A BLIND BARGAIN. 


25s 


laugh, the sunshine hid in her golden hair, while the warm breeze 
lifted and stirred the stray locks as though jealously hunting the 
intruder out ; while all of the elements together were not more 
reckless or shifting in their moods than she, or more fascinating in 
their very capriciousness. Apparently disregarding Arthur’s prox- 
imity, she was quite content with watching her fellow voyagers 
and the ship’s crew, with an occasional glance at a book. Then 
she made an exception of Dudley, for he, like Arthur had refrained 
at first from seeking her society. But unlike Arthur, on the 
second day he was not permitted to further indulge his humor. 
Gertrude’s mood had no respect for any one else’s vagaries. She 
knew quite well that it was his boyish love for her that made Cur- 
ley shy and reserved, but she did not choose to have him love her 
just then ; she wanted him to amuse her. And so, calmly dis- 
regarding his feelings, on the morning of the third day out she 
summoned him to her side with a little imperious gesture. Mak 
ing him sit down beside her on the steamer chair, she said, 

“ What have I done to offend you ? ” 

“ You have not offended me,” replied Curley, blushing like a 
girl, and playing in an embarrassed way with his watch chain. 

“ Then why don’t you come and talk to me ? Why do you 
avoid me ? ” 

No answer. 

Laying her hand upon his arm and leaning forward to catch his 
eyes, she said imperatively, “ Look at me ! ” 

Reluctantly, Curley raised his big brown eyes to hers. 

“ You are a foolish boy! ” she said, with a certain tenderness. 
“ It is not kind of you,” she added, reproachfully. Then followed 
a pause, during which poor Dudley drew a long breath and be- 
came uneasy. “ I am lonely,” she continued, “ and I want you to 
talk to me.” Then, suddenly changing her manner, she called him 
by his nickname, saying in a pleading tone, “ Say, Curley, won’t 
you come and play with me ? ” 

As she laughed, Curley, catching the infection, laughed too, at 
the same time answering resignedly, “ Yes, if you want me to.” 

“ That’s a good boy,” she replied. I do want you. I have 
been so awfully lonely, and you wouldn’t even look at me.” 

“ No, I know I wouldn’t,” said Curley, with a little catch in his 
breath. “ What shall we play ? ” 

“ Let us make a kite ! ” said Gertrude, with enthusiasm. “ All day 
yesterday I thought how lovely it would be to fly a white kite away 


256 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


up in that blue sky. I asked the old sailor over there, if the pas- 
sengers ever died or flew, or whatever it is, a kite, and he touched 
his hat and said, ‘ Yes, my lady,’ and then afterwards he came 
and told me he would get me some small stuff if I liked. But I 
did not know what small stuff was, or whether I liked it or not, 
and so I told him that I did not care about any, just then ; some 
other day I would like a little. What is small stuff ? ” 

“ String,” said Curley. 

“ Oh,’* said Gertrude. “ Let us get him to give it to us 
now.” 

Then, at Gertrude’s instigation, by begging and bribing, Dud- 
ley succeeded in collecting the necessary material ; and choosing 
a secluded spot, the two proceeded with the building of the kite. 
At least, Curley did the building and Gertrude the criticis- 
ing. 

“ Nevertheless, I think it was funny,” resumed Curley, after 
the size of the kite’s tail had been freely discussed ; “ or perhaps 
strange would be a better word. I think it is strange that we 
should all happen to go home together on the same ship.” 

“ I am not a sailor like you,” replied Gertrude, “ but it does 
not seem to me that we could very well have gone home together 
on different ships ; now, could we ? ” 

Whereat Curley looked at her admiringly and continued, “ Do 
you know, I never was so taken aback in all my life as when 
Arley told me that you were aboard. I thought that you were 
going to spend two or three months in Europe.” 

“ So we were,” said Gertrude, sadly, “ but my aunt’s health is 
not very good and so we decided to return.” 

“ I suppose Arthur told you of our getting orders to return to 
Carleton for examination for promotion.” 

“ Yes,” said Gertrude, “that is, I heard him tell Aunt Mary.” 

“We had just got settled in a lovely little spot in the south of 
France, where you could get very good beer. And mother had 
arrived and we were all going to housekeeping, when the orders 
came. I need not have gone, because I was on sick leave. But 
Arley had to go, and mother was anxious to have me back at 
home and so,” he concluded with a sigh, “ here we are.” 

“ Are you going to be promoted too ? ” asked Gertrude. 

“I am afraid not,” said Curley, “I don’t believe I can pass the 
physical examination.” 

“You mean that they won’t promote you because you are 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


257 


sick ? ” And then, as he nodded his head, she continued energet- 
ically, “ But that is not right ! You lost your health because you 
were doing your duty. They ought to promote you just for that 
very reason ! ” 

‘‘ I wish you were the honorable secretary,” said Curley. 

“I wish I was,” replied Gertrude, emphatically, “just for a 
day. But, tell me, if they don’t promote you, what will they 
do ? ” 

“Well, probably they will give me a year to recover in, and 
then if I am not well enough, they will retire me.” 

“ What is that ? ” said Gertrude. 

“ Half or three-quarters pay and nothing to do.” 

“ Would you like that ? ” said Gertrude. 

“ Mo,” said Curley, shaking his head. “ To be laid on the 
shelf, just as I am starting out, is pretty hard.” 

“ Of course it is ! ” exclaimed Gertrude, sympathetically. “ But 
then,” she added, brightly, “you won’t be. I am quite sure that 
you will be well in less than a year. Why, you look ever so much 
better now than when I first saw you.” 

“ Oh,” he said, with assumed carelessness, “I’ve no doubt I 
shall pull through all right. What great friends your aunt and 
my mother have become,” he continued, changing the subject, 
and glancing at the two elderly ladies who were sitting together 
at a little distance, engaged in earnest conversation. 

“ Yes,” said Gertrude, “ it is so pleasant for Aunt Mary to have 
a companion. I am glad that it all happened as it did.” 

“ Are you ? ” said Curley looking up at her. 

“ Yes,” said Gertrude, “ on auntie’s account.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Curley. “ There,” he continued, holding up the 
kite, “ I think that is enough tail.” 

“ I still think it is too long,” said Gertrude. 

“ Well,” said Curley, who despite his resolution to the con- 
trary, was happy in this enforced companionship, “ you see it is a 
French kite and it is proper that it should leave its tail Toulon.” 

“ And that the paper up here should be Toulouse ! ” replied 
Gertrude. 

“ Exactly,” said Curley. “ I tell you what, we are pretty bright, 
aren’t we ? ” 

“ Indeed we are,” said Gertrude. “ Where shall we fly it ? I 
hope it will go up all right. Everybody is looking at us, and it 
would be dreadful to make a failure of it.” 

17 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


258 

“ I wonder why Arley doesn’t lend us a hand instead of stand- 
ing over there talking to that old pelican. If I could catch his eye 
I will call him over.” 

'‘No, don’t!” said Gertrude, quickly. And then she added, 
“ He will think we don’t know how to fly a kite, and we do.” 

“ The wind is ahead — what little we have,” said Curley, “ and 
we can send it up from here very easily.” 

As they arose, they were joined by other idlers, their attempt at 
flying a kite, as soon as it was observed, exciting that general 
interest which at sea attaches to the slightest incident. But 
although most of the passengers on deck abandoned their various 
occupations to witness their venture, Arthur was among those 
who did not move. He continued conversing with the old lady 
whom Curley had flippantly designated a pelican, although he saw 
very well what was going forward. In fact, there had not been a 
movement of Gertrude’s since he had been aboard, that escaped 
him ; not even a smile or a glance. But he made no sign. He 
had learned his lesson. He did not intend that Fate should find 
it necessary to repeat it. By what strange chance he was forced 
into a ten days’ ship-board intimacy with Gertrude, he could not 
understand ; but he would show that he was strong enough, if 
occasion demanded. She was not for him, and after that one 
glance surprised from him he withdrew within himself. He was 
not going to hang whining around the gates of Paradise like a 
beggar only to see another man enter in and take possession at 
the end of ten days. Not he. And so, if Gertrude wished to fly 
kites let some one else ballast them. 

The kite was launched from the ship’s side ; for a moment it 
arose swiftly into the blue ether and then describing a number of 
fantastic curves like a living thing struggling to get free, it 
finally swooped down into the water. A chorus of derisive and 
sympathetic exclamations greeted this result, followed by expla- 
nations of the cause of the failure and advice on kite-making gen- 
erally. 

“ Shall we try again ? ” said Curley laughingly. 

But Gertrude shook her head and replied, “ No, I’m tired of the 
kite. Let some one else try.” 

Relinquishing what was left of the paraphernalia to an enthu- 
siast, they sought another part of the deck. 

“ Now, what shall we do ? ” said Curley. 

“ I don’t know,” said Gertrude. “ I wish I could climb up 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 259 

there,” she continued, looking up at the tall masts ; “ it must be 
lovely away up at the top.” 

“ I am afraid it would hardly do,” said Curley, picking up a bit 
of rope yarn from the deck. 

“ I suppose not,” said Gertrude with a sigh. 

“ What is that you are making } ” 

“ That } ” said Curley. “ That is a Tom Fool’s knot.” 

“ Show me how,” said Gertrude. Then, after sundry vain 
attempts, she gave it up. “ 1 am stupid ; I can’t make it,” she 
said, impatiently. “ How do you make a true lover’s knot } ” 

“ This way,” said Curley, making that traditional emblem. 
“ There. Now, if a sailor wants to know if -his girl will have him, 
he sends her a ribbon with the knot apart, this way. If she 
loves him, she draws the knots together and sends it back. And 
then he is happy.” 

“ It takes very little to make a sailor happy,” said Gertrude. 
“She ought to send him a Tom Fool’s knot. How dreadfully 
warm it is ! ” 

“ It is pretty warm,” assented Curley. “ How nice it would be 
to take a plunge over the side.” 

“Oh, wouldn’t it!” exclaimed Gertrude, enthusiastically. “If 
we only had bathing suits.’’ 

“ I am afraid the captain would not wait for us,” said Curley, 
“ and then we should get left.” 

“ How tiresome you are to object to everything I suggest,” 
replied Gertrude, “ I wonder if it is not near lunch time,” 
she continued, consulting her watch. “ The morning is so 
long ! ” 

Curley made no reply, and she leaned back idly in her chair 
with her eyes far away, looking very lovely in a morning costume 
which seemed expressly adapted to its surroundings. 

“ What have you been reading ? ” he said presently, taking up 
the book that lay on the deck beside her chair ; “ Tennyson ? ” 

“ I have not been reading,” she said. “ I am not in the humor. 
Let us take a walk. Shall we } ” 

As they slowly paced the deck, she continued, “ Do you think 
we shall have a quick passage } ” 

“ It is hard to tell,” said Curley. “ At this time of the year we 
certainly ought to have fair weather, even if the wind is not in our 
favor.” 

“ Is the wind in our favor now } ” asked Gertrude. 


26 o 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ No,” said Curley, “ it has been a head wind all the morning, 
but it is light.” 

“ I wish it would storm,” said Gertrude. 

“ You do ! ” said Curley. “ That is a nice wish. What do you 
want it to storm for } ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” said Gertrude, impatiently. “ Didn’t you 
ever feel as though you would like to see things all broken up ? ” 

“ Well,” said Curley, reflectively, “ I have sometimes felt a 
desire to smash things, but only under certain circumstances. I 
have never felt like interfering with a fair breeze or sunshine.” 

“ I am sick of the sunshine,” said Gertrude wilfully. “ I want 
a storm.” 

“ Oh, very well,” said Curley. “ I will ask the steward to 
bring you one.” 

At which Gertrude laughed. Finally she stopped at the little 
group formed by Mrs. Dudley, Mrs. Arlingford and Arthur, and 
leaned on the back of her aunt’s chair. 

“What amuses you, my dear.^” said Mrs. Arlingford, trying 
unsuccessfully to look up into her face. 

“ Mr. Dudley,” said Gertrude. 

“ She wants the moon,” explained Curley. 

“ No, I don’t,” said Gertrude. “ I want a storm.” 

“ I should not wonder if you got one,’’ said Arthur, looking at 
her. 

“ Do you think so ? ” she said, letting her eyes fall ; and then 
slipping her arm around her aunt’s neck, she lowered her head 
with the pretext of asking her some trivial question. 

“ Do you really think we are going to have a storm, Arthur.^ ” 
askek Mrs. Dudley, anxiously. 

“ Scarcely a storm,” he answered. “ It looks a little misty over 
there, but it is more likely to be rain than anything else.” 

“ Oh, I hope we shan’t have bad weather,” said Mrs. Dudley, 
looking with concern at her son. 

“ For my part,” said that young gentleman, airily, “ I think a 
storm would be rather a pleasant change.” 

“ Yes ? ” said Gertrude, looking at him with saucy inquiry. 

“ It won’t amount to anything,” said Arthur reassuringly. “ It 
is not the time of year for gales, in this latitude.” 

“Oh, I say,” said Curley, reproachfully, “you have been cram- 
ming ‘ The Law of Storms.’ Now, that isn’t fair.” 

Later in the afternoon, Arthur’s prophecy was partly fulfilled. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


261 


The sky became overcast and a damp, chilly wind sprang up 
from the northwest, changing the warm blue of the water into a 
cold gray, and ruffling it here and there into patches of curling 
foam. By nightfall, the motion of the steamer had perceptibly 
increased, and the fair-weather passengers, among whom were 
Mrs. Dudley and Mrs. Arlingford, had sought their berths. The 
following day was sombre, with a dull gray canopy ov'erhead and 
a dark, leaden sea beneath. The chairs on deck were empty and 
uninviting, while the few passengers who appeared did not 
remain long. Arthur alone, of all his party, seemed indifferent to 
the weather. He stayed on deck all day, smoking and tramping 
to and fro with a persistence characteristic of the sailor. Dudley 
was compelled to remain below, the cold dampness making him 
cough each time that, despite his mother’s entreaties, he wilfully 
braved the open air. Gertrude was forced to stay with her aunt 
and Mrs. Dudley. Under any circumstances she disliked the 
cabin, for, with her dread of the sea, the sense of being confined 
between decks made her nervous. Out in the open air, she could 
at least see what was happening, and to that end she was content 
to brave the most boisterous winds and waves. In her present 
humor, this constraint was doubly irksome to her. She would 
play backgammon with her aunt or read to her and Mrs. Dudley, 
until she became nervous enough to cry aloud. But although the 
first of these rough weather days served her with pretexts enough 
to go on deck, she resolutely refrained from availing herself of any 
of them. The second morning, however, as Arthur turned in his 
walk, he saw a slight gray figure emerge upon the unsteady deck 
and stand hesitating a [moment as it was blown by the wind. 
Instantly he was by her side, and as she took his strong arm, Ger- 
trude said something about a book she wanted out of her state- 
room. The book was procured, and then, of course, there was 
nothing for Arthur to do but to insist on her taking a little 
walk. And in this, their first conversation, an hour sped by 
unnoticed. 

After that, Gertrude refused all other invitations to walk, and 
refraining from again going on deck ^alone, she voluntarily 
imprisoned herself for the rest of the day. The next morning, 
Arthur reproached himself with his selfishness in not offering her 
his services, knowing how well she loved the open air. Heroic- 
ally determining that come what might to him, her pleasure 
should not suffer, he sought her in the cabin and urged her to 


262 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


come on deck for exercise. Her acceptance of his invitation con- 
firmed him in this course. 

“ I hope,” he said, “ that it is unnecessary for me to tell you 
that whenever you want to walk on deck, I am entirely at your 
disposal. At least, I can offer you a steady arm and I am only 
too glad to be of the slightest use to you. In fact, it is a pleasure 
to encourage such a good rough-weather sailor.” 

“ I always was a pretty good sailor,” she said, well pleased. 
“But, all the same, I don’t like the sea.” 

“ No,” he replied, “ I know you don’t. You‘ never did. 
Though you told me that night, when we were on the yacht 
going up to Newport, that you did not mind stormy weather ; it 
was on the still nights when you looked over the side into the 
black water, that you were afraid.” 

“ Do you remember all that ? ” she said, looking up at him 
curiously. 

He answered, with a little laugh, “ Yes, I remember all that.” 

“ Do you know,” she continued, after a pause, “ Aunt Mary 
and I were so glad when we knew you were going on the same 
ship with us. We were such cowards, and I dreaded the voyage 
back all alone. I felt almost superstitious about it. But now I 
don’t. At night, coming over, I used to be afraid to go to sleep 
sometimes, lest something should happen ; but now, if I get ner- 
vous, I think of you being on deck, for you always are, you know. 
See what confidence we have in your sailor qualities,” she added, 
with a smile. Then as Arthur remained silent, she continued, 
“ Why do you stay on deck so much ? Don’t you ever go to 
sleep ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” he answered ; “ I sleep a good deal. Only it is so 
hot and close down below, I prefer to be on deck. In fact, I 
often bring a blanket up and sleep on deck all night. You are 
fortunate in having a deck stateroom.” 

He did not tell her that it was solely to guard that deck state- 
room that he stood these enforced watches; that, from the 
moment he knew that she was aboard, he felt the responsibility 
for the ship’s safety as keenly as did the captain himself. Nor 
did he believe that he was yielding an inch to his love in all this. 
Had he not left Paris when fate had brought Gertrude there, 
rather than remain in temptation ? And now when fate had 
played him the same trick and he could not run away, had he not 
been strong in his own self-restraint ? He was watching over her 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


263 


and caring for her as he had done all his life, that was all. It 
would be cowardly for him to shirk that duty because of a sensi- 
tive regard for his own feelings. 

And so the rough weather continued and the daily walks con- 
tinued, and lengthened, and increased, until the slight, gray figure 
like a sea bird blown by the wind, was rarely away from the 
shelter of his pilot coat. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


It was in the morning watch of the last night at sea. The 
week of gray, windy weather had culminated off the American 
coast in a combination of fog and rain, varied with squalls, accom- 
panied by heavy seas. The waning moon, like a cloud-beaten 
wreck foundering in the western horizon, flashed every now and 
then a pale signal light across the waste of waters. The great 
steamer rolled in the long black swell, rolled with such delibera- 
tion it seemed at times as though its ponderous weight could not 
recover itself in time for safety. The wind catching the dense 
volumes of smoke pouring from the funnels sometimes flaunted it in 
long streamers across the water, sometimes tore it in shreds and 
whirled the pieces aloft into mimic clouds, and sometimes beat it 
out into black crepe, with which it fantastically veiled the steamer, 
the ocean and the moon. 

Arthur stood leaning against one of the stanchions of the 
bridge, looking out at the lights and shadows fleeting across the 
waves. The last night of his self-appointed guardianship of Ger- 
trude had arrived, the last night that he could watch while she 
slumbered, the last night that he might be near her with the 
ocean isolating them from the rest of the world. Like a man 
suddenly awakened from a dream, he was being rudely aroused 
from the delusion into which his confidence in his own strength 
of will had lulled him. The sweet love which his heart had been 
distilling in the last few days, was now turned to bitterness by 
the contemplation of the morrow. As he thought of Yates meet- 
ing Gertrude on the wharf in the morning, and claiming her as 
his future wife, he fairly groaned aloud. Again and again he 
called himself a fool, a weak, miserable fool. And yet, like the 
deeper waters which are still even in the mightiest storm that tears 
the surface of the ocean, lay the quiet satisfaction that in all the 
violence of his passion during the voyage he had never whispered 
one word of his love in Gertrude’s ears. In this he found his 
only comfort, the comfort of a temptation resisted, of a duty done. 

264 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


265 

In his dejection he found a companionship in the wild night, 
with its flying clouds and broken waters, and two o’clock w’as 
sounded on the ship’s bell before he turned to go below to his 
berth. Casting a lingering look upon the stateroom wherein the 
woman that he loved so well was lying asleep, what was his sur- 
prise to see the door suddenly open and Gertrude herself, wrapped 
in a water-proof, step out upon the sloping deck. For a moment 
Arthur thought that his fancy, occupied as it had been with her 
image, was deceiving him. Then, as he watched the slender 
figure in the fitful moonlight steadying itself against the frame of 
the door and staring around at the ship and the sea, he saw that 
it was Gertrude, and that she was in trouble. Instantly he was 
by her side. 

“ What is it, Gertrude ? ” he said. 

“ Arthur, is that you ? ” she cried. “ Oh, Arthur,” she contin- 
ued in a trembling tone, clinging to his arm with both hands, 
“ what is the matter ? What has happened ? ” 

“Why, nothing, little girl,” he replied, soothingly. “ What has 
frightened you ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” she said, beginning to cry, in a subdued way. 
“ I thought I heard the bell ring and the engine stop, and that 
you called to me that the ship was sinking ! Are you sure noth- 
ing is the matter ? What makes it roll so } ” 

“ That is the land swell,” said Arthur ; “ it is always so, near 
the coast. The engines have slowed down, but it is only because 
there are so many small craft near the land, and the night is not 
very clear. The bell has just struck the hour; perhaps that was 
what startled you out of your sleep. There ! there ! don’t cry. 
We shall sight Sandy Hook light before long. You ought not 
to get nervous now when you are so near home.” 

But his words seemed unheeded as she still clung to his arm 
and gazed fearfully around. Then she said, drawing a long 
breath, “ Are you sure there is no danger ? Oh, I have had such 
a dreadful dream ! I dreamed that I was with my poor, dear 
mother and father, once more, on board that awful ship and I 
thought that we were sinking, that we were drowning. And oh, 
the water was so black and cold ! May I stay out here just for a 
moment ? ” 

“ Why, of course,” he answered, while his heart began to beat 
quickly. “ Come over here where you will be more comfort- 
able,” he added, leading her to a signal chest near the mainmast. 


266 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


She would not sit down, how'ever, but stood leaning against 
the mast, holding on to the ropes, looking out over the w'ater. 

“ Sit dowm, Gertrude, please,” said Arthur, with infinite tender- 
ness in his tone, “ you are trembling so. Dear child, don’t be 
frightened, because I assure you there is no more danger than if 
you were ashore. Just think,” he added, with a confused idea 
of distracting her thoughts from their terror, “ you will be ashore 
to-morrow.” Then as all that that announcement meant for him 
came back to his mind, he added with an irresistible impulse, yet 
wfith a feeling of guilt as he yielded to it, “ Will you be glad } ” 

“ Glad } ” she replied, looking up at him in a confused w^ay. 
Then as her gaze w^andered off to the w^ater he saw that the wild- 
ness of the night had not reassured her. She was still frightened, 
and her thoughts were not with him. Much less did she realize 
what was passing in his mind, that brooding of his love for her 
during all these hours her coming was but an embodiment of his 
thoughts, that her coming had found his love unguarded, and 
now that love would not be denied. And so with passionate in- 
sistence he repeated, “ Listen to me, Gertrude. You will be 
ashore to-morrow. Will you be glad } ” 

Something, perhaps the pressure of his hand upon her arm as 
he steadied her against the rolling of the ship, perhaps a tremble 
in his voice, revealed to her his thoughts. She turned and looked 
at him, and said nervously, in a troubled tone, “ I don’t know, 
I — ” Then with a quick recovery of her self-possession, she 
forced a laugh and added, hurriedly, “ How^ silly I am ! I am 
sure I don’t know w^hat has made me so nervous to-night. I 
don’t know when I have been so terribly frightened. What did 
you ask me 7 If I would be glad to get home ? Of course I 
shall. It has been a pleasant voyage, but I think we shall all be 
glad when it is over. And now if you will give me your arm as 
far as my stateroom I will say good night. I don’t think I shall 
be so foolish again.” 

“ You will be glad, of course,” said Arthur, moodily, ignoring 
her last remark, “ but as for me, I should be just as well pleased 
if the ship turned around here and went back to Europe, or to 
Jericho, or to the bottom, for that matter ! ” 

“ Why do you talk like that ? ” she said. 

“ If you want to know,” he answered, hotly, “ I will tell 
you.” 

He felt that all the barriers that he had erected against himself 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


267 

Were at this last moment being swept away, but he did not care. 
His love was dispelling his resolution as the wind did the smoke, 
but he heeded it as little. It was all so unreal, the hour, the 
surroundings, the nature of the meeting, it was like a dream, 
with the irresponsibility which characterizes one’s actions in a 
dream. 

“ After all,” he continued, “ I don’t know why I should not tell 
you. It is because I love you.” 

Gertrude made no reply at first, but, as the moon cast a parting 
gleam acro^is the ship, she slowly turned toward him and looked 
into his face. After a moment’s scrutiny she said in a tone 
which to his surprise, was apparently devoid of emotion, “Do 
you love me, Arthur ? Since when ? Since I have been en- 
gaged to some one else ” 

Then Arthur’s surprise gave place to angry indignation at the 
injustice, as he chose to consider it, of this sarcastic answer. 

“ Is that fair? ” he cried. 

“Or, perhaps,” continued Gertrude, “it is only since the idle 
days of a sea voyage had to be filled in.” Then as Arthur made 
no reply to this, after waiting a moment Gertrude went on, “ But 
I forgot, you asked me if what I said was fair. Yes, quite as fair 
as, considering the circumstances, it was for you to say what you 
did, to take advantage of my being here to say what, under any 
circumstances, you had no right to say ! ” 

“ That is true ; it was very wrong of me,” said Arthur humbly. 
‘‘ I am sorry, and I beg your pardon.” 

Then Gertrude laid her hand upon his arm and said very gently, 
“ I will forgive you,” adding in a lighter tone, “ the more readily 
because I don’t believe you quite understood or meant what you 
said.” 

Quickly taking the hand that rested on his arm, Arthur 
exclaimed hurriedly and with considerable emotion, “ Gertrude, do 
more for me ! It is probably the last time I shall ever ask a kind- 
ness from you. All that I want is for you to listen to me a 
moment. I shall not offend you.” Then without waiting for a 
reply he hurried on, “ I did not intend ever to say what I did to- 
night ; your coming surprised it from me. But, as it is, 1 cannot 
bear to have you misunderstand me ; although I don’t see how I 
can make you understand, how I can explain the feelings I have 
had for you all my life. As a boy I loved you. You know that, 
yet you don’t know what that love was like. I worshipped you. 


268 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Gertrude, that is the only word that expresses it. You cannot 
have forgotten the power you had over me, the power that nobody 
else possessed. Why.? Because I loved you so. You were my 
religion, my conscience, my guardian angel. I looked upon you 
with a strange reverence, as men do upon heaven. I don’t think 
you ever understood all this. How should you ? I did not my- 
self. When after our separation you came to Carleton, all this 
grew upon me. You were so lovely and so pure, while I — I felt 
myself unworthy, almost, to touch your hand. God knows I loved 
you more than ever then, but the more I loved you, the higher you 
seemed above me. You were not like other women to me. It 
made me angry to see men who I knew were no better than my- 
self, presuming to take your hand, or whisper compliments ; it 
seemed like sacrilege. That night at Newport, when I heard for 
the first time rumors that you were engaged, and to that — that 
man, and I afterward saw him constantly by your side, I could not 
understand it. I could have killed him for his insolence ! Im- 
agine, then, if you can, what I felt when I heard that you had 
given yourself to him, that you were going to be his 'wi/e. It was 
horrible ! I was furious with him, with you, with every one ! I 
believed that he had entrapped you, had taken advantage of your 
goodness, your innocence, to inveigle you into a scheme of which 
you did not understand the meaning. I told you then, in my 
letter, that I had lost my religion a second time and that it was 
a worse loss than the other, but you did not understand, you 
thought me extravagant. I am not surprised. It was our meet- 
ing in Paris, almost as strangers, that suddenly awakened me. I 
saw you there for the first time in my life as a woman whom a 
man might win. The thought almost blinded me. Fool that I 
had been ! I hated myself and my past. At that moment I 
would have given all that I hold best in the world, life itself, for 
one word of love from you, of the love that I was feeling.” 

With heaving chest and broken voice he stopped, and the throb- 
bing of the engines, the creaking of the blocks and the noises of 
the water sounded in the silence. Gertrude had made no move- 
ment since Arthur had begun to speak. She stood turned away 
from him slightly, with her forehead resting on the arm which 
raised above her head, held to the ropes around the mast. When, 
as he paused, she made no answer, he exclaimed, hopelessly; 
“ Pshaw ! What is the use of saying all this ! All the talking in 
the world don’t make you understand. Only you may imagine 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


269 

that when such a love as mine grows up with a man from his 
earliest childhood, the rooting it up is not an easy matter ; and so 
there was nothing left for me to do but keep out of your way. 
How well I have succeeded,” he added, with a short laugh, “you 
can judge for yourself. 

As Gertrude continued to remain in her former attitude without 
making a sign, he said, after a moment’s silence, “ Are you still 
angry with me ? ” 

Then she raised her head, but without looking at him, and 
answered, “ No, no, I believe all that you have told me. Only 
don’t say any more just now.” And he felt that she was crying. 

“ You are sorry for me,” he said sadly ; “ I might have known 
you would be.” 

Yes, she was sorry, sorry for him and for herself, and angry and 
bitter as well. 

“ But,” he continued, “ I only want you to try and understand 
all this. I don’t want it to make you unhappy; my life is not 
worth that. If only you will be happy that will comfort me more 
than anything else. And this man that you are going to marry, 
are you sure that he will make you happy You will not be 
offended if I say that, knowing you as well as I do, I cannot under- 
stand your engagement to him. Sometimes I tell myself that it 
must be because I do not know him ; that he has qualities which 
I do not understand, do not appreciate ; that your love discov-- 
ered traits in him which are in some way worthy of you, and 
which as his wife may make you happy. And yet I cannot under- 
stand. Won’t you tell me, for the sake of the love that I have 
borne you all my life, tell me what it is that has made you love 
Mr. Yates.? ” 

She was silent again. 

Watching her keenly he continued after a few moments, “ Per- 
haps you don't love him ! ” Then as she still remained silent he 
broke forth, excitedly, “For God’s sake, Gertrude, tell me that 
you don’t love him ! It is so ; you cannot deny it ! Ah, Gertrude, 
only listen to me, you have been trapped into this engagement, 
you shall — ” 

“ Stop ! ” exclaimed Gertrude, suddenly raising herself erect. 
“ You have gone too far. I can listen to no more. As for my 
being trapped, as you call it, understand once and for all that no 
one has had anything to do with this but myself.” 

“ Then why have you done it ? ” he demanded. 


270 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ Because,” she exclaimed passionately, “ I — I — ” and then 
checking herself she added, “ It is not a matter that I can explain 
to you. You have no right to ask it, you have no right to ques- 
tion me.” 

“ I have a right,” he answered, quickly, “ our past life and 
former friendship, if nothing else, give me the right to guard you 
against a false step that may ruin your life as far as happiness is 
concerned. I have a right to question you, and if you don’t love 
this man I insist upon your telling me why you are going to 
marry him.” And as she made no answer, he continued, “ Do 
you hear 

Then, suddenly she turned and confronted him. “ Arthur,” she 
said, “ were you in love with Mrs. Merrin ? ” 

“ Mrs. Merrin ! ” he exclaimed, astounded. 

“ Yes/’ she replied, “ Mrs. Merrin.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” he said, while his heart sank within 
him. Was this guilty ghost never to be laid ? “ That is not a 
question you should ask.” 

“ Oh, is that not like a man,” exclaimed Gertrude, “ to take 
refuge behind propriety ? However, if you cannot answer me, it 
is of no consequence.” 

“ But I can answer you,” he replied, calmly. “ Mrs. Merrin is 
nothing to me.” 

“ You loved her ! ” 

“ I did not ! ” 

“ You did not.^ ” 

“ No. When I was little more than a boy, at college, she made 
me think perhaps I did.” 

“ And afterward did she keep on making you think perhaps 
that you did ? Or did she convince you of it } ” 

“ I tell you, Gertrude, I never loved her ! What do you mean 
by bringing up her name ? ” 

“ Never mind,” replied Gertrude, “ but answer my question. 
If you did not love her, why did you obey her, devote yourself to 
her and parade your attentions before the whole world } ” 

“ Gertrude, she is not a person for you to talk of,” persisted 
Arthur. “ You have no right to mention her name.” 

“ I have a right,” she answered, mocking him. “ Our former 
friendship gives me that right.” 

“ Oh, very well, then,” he replied, quietly. “ As I have already 
told you, Mrs. Merrin made me believe while I was at college. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


271 


that I loved her. We were together a great deal and people 
talked of it. One night we were out sailing together and did not 
get home till very late. It was discovered. There was a row and 
— and, all that sort of thing. Her husband came down to Carlton 
and took her home. Well, I believed that it was all my fault that 
she had been compromised, and so I put myself entirely at her 
disposal then or thereafter, at any time that she might demand my 
services. It was quixotic ; it was idiotic ! On my honor as a gen- 
tleman, there was no more need for it all than there was for my 
going out and drowning myself. But she chose to make a great 
deal of it, and afterwards held me to my promise. You had gone 
out of my life then, and I did not care much what became of me.” 

Gertrude was silent for a few moments, and then said, “ Did 
you ever talk of me to Mrs. Merrin ? ” 

“Did I ever talk of you? To her!” exclaimed Arthur. 
“ After what I have told you, can you ask me such a question ? 
Can you not understand that your name was sacred to me ; that 
I never uttered it aloud to a living soul ? ” 

“ On your word of honor ? ” 

“ On my word of honor 1 ” 

Again she was silent. 

“ Gertrude,” said Arthur, quietly, “ won’t you tell me what all 
this means ? ” 

“ Yes,” she answered, in a low voice, “ I will try. I think per- 
haps I owe you that much.” Then, after another pause, she con- 
tinued, “ About six months ago, I received an anonymous letter — 
and since then I have had reasons to think that it came from 
Mrs. Merrin. In it she said that — that you had said that — oh, 
Arthur, I cannot tell you ! Can you not understand ? ” she cried, 
in despair. 

“ No,” said Arthur, “ I can’t understand. Tell me what she 
said. Perhaps 1 can relieve your mind on that point, at least.” 

“ She said that you boasted before a roomful of people that,” 
and here her voice sank, “ that I was hopelessly in love with you.” 

“What!” cried Arthur. But almost instantly, to her astonish- 
ment, he laughed. “ How utterly absurd ! ” he said, “ Why, it 
is simply preposterous ! ” 

Then, as she made no response, he looked at her with some be- 
wilderment, as she stood leaning against the mast, dimly outlined 
in the faint light. Until at last, he burst out with, “ But— but— 
you did not think anything of it ? ” in a half incredulous, half 


272 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


doubtful tone. “You did not let such an impossible lie as that 
worry you ? ” 

“ Yes, I did,” she answered, and her voice was choked with tears, 
and she twined her fingers together with nervous strength. 

“ My God, Gertrude ! ” exclaimed Arthur. “ Think a moment ! 
You did not believe that I ever said such a thing.” Still she was 
silent. “ Oh ! ” he cried, with a long drawn breath. “ How could 
you ? It was shameful ! You knew me better than that. How 
dared you think such a thing of me ? Whatever else you may 
have thought of me, you knew at least that I was a gentleman.” 

“ I believed it because it was true,” she murmured. 

“ But I tell you — ” he said, indignantly, and then checking him- 
self, he added, coldly, “ Under the circumstances, all that I can say 
is that you have been deceived. It is not true.” 

“ I don’t mean that you said it,” she answered, in great distress, 
struggling to repress her tears ; “ but that it was true — I don’t 
mind telling you now that it is all past — it was true that I did love 
you. No, no ! ” she exclaimed, placing her hand upon his breast 
and checking him, as he bent over her with a cry. “You must 
not. Remember that all this is passed. I have listened to what 
you told me, and I believe it all. I am even glad that you told me, 
because it has explained much that I have misunderstood, and 
that has pained me. For the same reason I am not ashamed to 
say what I have said ; our past life seems to make it sacred. But 
all this must be like the love we have for those who are dead — a 
memory, and no more. No matter how it all came about ; if I 
have made mistakes, that is no reason that I should not do right. 
I am in honor bound to Mr. Yates, and hereafter my thoughts 
must be for him alone.” 

Then Arthur let fall his hands, and raising his head, said, 
“ Now, listen to me. Some one has been playing upon your sen- 
sitive nature to mislead you into this engagement. If you marry 
this man, it will be a crime, a sacrilegious crime. You shall not 
do it. You may not marry me— but you shall never marry him. 
Do you hear me ? As there is a God in heaven, that man shall 
never call you his wife ! ” 


CHAPTER XL. 


Sad indeed must be the heart that after long absence sees 
again its native land, without being gladdened, especially when that 
land appears as it appeared to the voyagers on the “ City of Bor- 
deaux,” in the bright, fresh, early morning, the low-lying, sandy 
shores a pale gold in the sunlight, the merry, blue-eyed waves 
dancing and running with rippling laughter, as they raced with the 
white-sailed coasting craft, and over all an ultramarine sky, itself 
a sea laden with dreams of ships sailing on noiseless missions. 
As the steamer majestically forced its way through the water to- 
ward the entrance of New York harbor, expressions of delight, of 
recognition, of enthusiastic admiration, burst from all parts of the 
crowded deck, while nearly every eye beamed with happiness and 
hope. 

Of our little party, however, Mrs. Dudley alone joined in these 
outward demonstrations of pleasure. Gertrude looking pale and 
distraught, with dark lines under her downcast eyes, was silent, 
while her aunt, who stood by her, making every now and then a 
poor pretence of sharing Mrs. Dudley’s outspoken satisfaction, 
eyed her niece askance, noting the change which the night had 
made and in ignorance of its immediate cause, attributing it with 
miserable anxiety to the coming meeting with Mr. Yates. 
Arthur, standing a little apart, was silent, too, but with nothing of 
dejection in his mien. On the contrary, though he was grave and 
thoughtful, a high resolve was written in his bearing. His eyes 
had an expression which might have lit up the gaze of Galahad 
when, girdled with the belt of the saintly maiden’s hair, he swore 
his vow to win the Holy Grail. 

At last the steamer arrived at its anchorage, and the official for- 
malities having been disposed of, the landing of the passengers 
began. Would Mr. Yates be at the dock to meet them? This 
was the first thought that arose in Gertrude’s mind. She had 
written to him before their departure, telling him of it, but she 
was not sure that he would receive the letter before their arrival. 

273 


18 


274 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


But then again, he would undoubtedly see her name in the tele- 
graphed list of passengers — hers and Arthur’s. As this juxtaposi- 
tion occurred to her, the first sense of guilt attaching to the 
occurrence of the previous night, flushed her face. She shrank 
from the meeting with Mr. Yates and hurriedly sought in her 
mind for some pretext whereby she might avoid him. As she 
instinctively looked around in this mental search, her eyes encoun- 
tered Arthur standing near, then instantly they dropped and a 
great joy sprang up in her heart and vanquished fear, guilt, and 
all other emotions by its might. 

Her apprehensions were without foundation, however, for when 
they landed Major Arlingford was the only one to greet them. 
Mr. Yates did not make his appearance. Relieved and gladdened 
by his absence, Gertrude welcomed the respite and bestowed little 
thought upon the possible significance of this dereliction on the 
part of her betrothed. She watched with eager interest the meet- 
ing between Arthur and his father, and while she wondered at the 
simple grasp of the hand and still simpler greeting, she felt the 
depth of love — even tenderness — that was concealed beneath the 
undemonstrative exteriors of these two, tall, strong men. 

It was a relief to her to give scope to her own feelings. She 
had always been very fond of her uncle, and now that fondness 
was strengthened by a new attraction. 

After arriving at the hotel where Major Arlingford had secured 
rooms for the party, Mrs. Arlingford expressed a desire to 
proceed to Washington without delay. Now that the excitement 
of travel was subsiding, and she had nothing to look forward to, 
the failure of her search for health began to have its depressing 
effect. Dispirited and nervous, Mr. Yates’ neglect to meet them 
also helped to fill her with forebodings and added to her dejection. 
She was in constant dread lest he should intrude upon them at any 
moment in some tragic manner, announcing to the world her hus- 
band’s dishonor, their own miserable contract, and her lack of 
good faith even in this. She urged the major to procure tickets 
for the next train to Washington, declaring in answer to his pro- 
test, that she needed rest and that she could rest only at home. 
Mrs. Dudley was equally anxious to reach her home, that she 
might make the necessary preparations for proceeding to Southern 
California, where she intended to spend the winter with her son, 
in the hope that the climate would benefit his health. And so, 
with good wishes and plans for a future meeting, the two parties 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


275 


separated, the Dudleys going to Boston, while Gertrude and her 
aunt, escorted by Arthur and his father, took the night train for 
Washington. 

Throughout the day, Gertrude had been silent and abstracted. 
The absence of Mr. Yates caused her no uneasiness, but rather 
afforded relief in that it permitted her to commune with her 
thoughts unmolested. ^ All day long, she had been going -over and 
over the words that Arthur had uttered the night before. The 
self-abasement and humility of the devotion which he had un- 
folded to her touched her soul, and while she longed to de- 
throne herself in his imagination that there might be, even in 
fancy, ho separation from him, she recognized the fact that no less 
a love, no less a devotion than this would have satisfied her. She 
understood it all now and gloried in it. A sense of satisfaction, 
even, pervaded her heart at the thought that Arthur knew she 
loved him, knew it from her own lips. And yet all through this 
period of ecstasy, no thought of the possibility of this revelation 
altering her relations with Mr. Yates in any way, had entered her 
mind. Arthur’s love was something apart from, something above 
and beyond any other event in her life, an essence too rare to be 
taken up immediately and assimilated with her daily existence, 
and, therefore, as yet, powerless to alter its material concerns. 

So this day passed, and the night came, during which they 
journeyed to Washington, and with the night, tender dreams, 
from which each awakening was a grief. 

As the day dawned on her fitful slumber, it found her with open 
eyes watching the masses of shapeless shadows flitting by to the 
refrain of the humming wheels, until houses and barns, bushes 
and trees, took shape in the gray light, and finally the beautiful 
dome of the Capitol hung like a white cloud above the foliage of the 
surrounding country, the arch of lights where the Long Bridge 
spanned the Potomac, twinkled palely into view, the state build- 
ings loomed into prominence above the still sleeping city, and the 
train swept into the depot at Washington. A bustle of preparation 
followed, their carriage rattled through the empty streets and 
once more she was at home. 

As Gertrude entered her own rooms, she seemed to have lost 
her place among the contents, so identified were they with her 
past life, so alien to her present emotions. With the feeling of 
being but a temporary occupant, she sat down by the open win- 
dow and watched the sunrise — that phenomenon of nature which 


276 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


holds SO much that is fascinating and full of promise for youth. 
The entrance of a servant with her breakfast, disturbed her 
reverie. This prosaic interruption jarred upon her. It was a 
summons to resume the commonplace routine of daily life, to take 
up the burden of daily habits. She felt depressed by it, unreason- 
ably so, she thought, until it suddenly occurred to her that there 
was no place for Arthur in the coming succession of hours. As 
the morning wore away, this feeling grew upon her ; she became 
restless and unable to fix her attention upon any of her ordinary 
pursuits. Once she arose with the intention of going out for a 
walk, but the thought that Arthur might come while she was gone 
caused her to relinquish it. She did not pause to consider the 
possibility of his coming ; it seemed impossible that he should not 
come. When her trunks arrived from the depot, she bade the 
maid unpack them, and choosing one of her prettiest Paris morning 
costumes, she made an elaborate toilet. Then wandering aimlessly 
from room to room, she waited. At last, a servant sought her 
out, bearing a salver with a card upon it. Smilingly, the woman 
said, “ A gentleman. Miss, to see you. He is in the parlor.” 

With a sudden tumult in her heart, Gertrude took the card and 
read the name. 

It was Mr. Paul Yates. 


CHAPTER XLI. 


Meantime, Arthur, proudly escorted by his father, arrived at 
the old familiar home on Lafayette Street, and early though it was, 
found some one evidently on watch behind the parlor curtains. 
For, as the carriage stopped, the house door -was thrown open 
and a pair of arms, were around Arthur’s neck before he was well 
inside the hall, and Kate, laughing through her tears, bade him 
welcome home. 

“ So you are up, are you, young lady ? ” said the major. “ Well, 
and where is mamma? ” 

“ She is in there,” said Kate, releasing her brother to point to 
the half-open door of the library. “Go to her, Arthur,” she 
added, giving him a last hug. 

And Arthur went in to his mother and presently reappeared 
with her, his arm around her waist and her tear-stained, smiling 
face resting on his shoulder. Then there were so many questions 
to be asked and so many to be answered, and so much to be said, 
that finally the major had to interfere to enable Arthur to go to his 
apartment and get rid of the dust of travel. And even then the 
two women fondly followed to show him the way to his old, well- 
remembered room, as though that was necessary. After break- 
fast, the major having business to attend to, left Arthur to his 
mother and sister. Seated between them, he devoted an hour or 
two to telling them all that had happened since he had been away 
and listening in turn to what they had to tell of the changes in their 
circle of acquaintances. He congratulated Kate on her engage- 
ment to Mr. Langdon, of which he had been informed in Paris by 
that gentleman himself, and teased her with a humorous descrip- 
tion of Langdon’s rhapsodies when her name was mentioned, his 
fits of abstraction and other mental disturbances which are popu- 
larly believed to characterize the absent lover. And Kate blushed 
and protested all to no avail until she unwittingly, but very effect- 
ually, changed the subject by referring to Gertrude’s engagement 
to Mr. Yates. Although but little was said about it by Kate or her 

277 


278 


A BUND BARGAIN. 


mother, Arthur was permitted to see that it met with their very 
decided disapproval. At the same time, they proceeded to ques- 
tion him closely about Gertrude. When did he meet her in Paris ? 
Was he with her a great deal? Did she seem happy? Why did 
she and Aunt Mary return* so soon ? And how did he happen to 
come back on the same steamer with them ? Which inquiries 
Arthur answered briefly and as unconcernedly as he could, at the 
same time displaying, in spite of himself, the intense feeling which 
the subject roused in his breast. For, from the moment he had 
bade Gertrude good-by a few hours before, his thoughts had never 
ceased to busy themselves with her. Throughout the meeting 
with his mother and sister, plans and projects concerning Ger- 
trude’s future and his own flowed like a resistless undercurrent 
through his mind. Unable to decide upon anything, his thoughts 
finally settled down to inventing some plausible excuse for getting 
away and seeing her once more. The necessity for preserving- 
some sort of appearance of interest and pleasure in this home 
reunion, grew more and more irksome. Determining to avail 
himself immediately after luncheon of the excuse of calling upon 
his aunt to make inquiries regarding her health after the fatigues 
of the journey, he awaited the midday meal with poorly con- 
cealed impatience. Finally the major returned, and with him 
came the hour of luncheon. When the repast was finished, 
Arthur announced his intention of going out for a short time. 
Kate instantly made a plaintive appeal to be permitted to accom- 
pany him, and when he evaded her request on the plea that he 
had business at the Navy Department, she declared that she 
would go and see Gertrude. This startling announcement rather 
upset Arthur’s plans, until bethinking himself that his sister’s 
toilet would occupy some time, he determined not to let her inten- 
tion interfere with his own. 

Arriving at his aunt’s house, inquiry developed the fact that 
that lady was lying down in her own room. Miss Gertrude, how- 
ever, was at home and would see him. Whereupon Arthur went 
into the parlor and waited. Presently a soft rustling of skirts in 
the hall set his pulses beating, and Gertrude entered the room. 
He went quickly to her side and took her hand, while a faint 
color suffused her face and a warm light came to her eyes, making 
her very lovely to look upon. Then the color faded away, 
leaving her pale and grave, and Arthur saw that she had been 
weeping. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


279 

“ I thought you would come,” she said, looking up frankly into 
his eyes, at the same time withdrawing her hand. 

All that he could answer was, “ My darling ! ” 

At the words, her eyes fell from his and her lip trembled. She 
slowly shook her head. Then, looking up again, she said, with 
gentle gravity, “ Arthur, if you expect to see me any more, you 
must promise not to take advantage of what I said the other 
night. I am afraid now that I ought not to have let you know 
that — that I — cared for you in that way. You must forget that it 
ever happened.” 

“ That is impossible,” he answered, quietly. 

“You must,” she said, “or else never see me again. Perhaps 
that would be best. I have promised to marry him. I — I did not 
think, that is, I thought — ” Then, with a gesture of desperation, 
she threw back her head and cried, “ Oh, can’t you understand } 
How can I listen to you ; how can I look him in the face without 
shame ? ” 

“ Has he been here } ” exclaimed Arthur, with sudden sus- 
picion. 

“Yes,” she replied, while her color slowly deepened and her 
eyes again sought the floor. 

“ Here ! In Washington, so soon ! ” said Arthur. “ And may I 
ask where he was when you landed from the steamer ? Why he 
was not there to meet you } ” 

“ He was there,” she replied. “ He saw us land, and — and — ” 

“ And would not show himself because you were with me ! ” said 
Arthur, scornfully. “ I thought I saw him skulking in the crowd. 
And so he watched us, and came down on the same train. The 
fool ! The ill-conditioned cur ! ” 

Raising her head, Gertrude stepped quickly in front of him, and 
resting a hand on either shoulder, she looked him in the face, and 
said gravely, “ Arthur, stop ! This will never do. I shall not 
allow you to speak that way of the man I am going to marry.” 

“ Gertrude,” he replied, laying his hands on hers and looking 
straight into her eyes, “remember what I said. You shall never 
marry that man ! Never ! ” Then his face darkened with a sinis- 
ter expression, and he added, “ I will kill him first ! ” 

“ Oh, hush, hush ! ” cried Gertrude. “ This is wicked. It is not 
kind of you to add to my unhappiness with such awful thoughts. 
It is unlike you. It is unmanly. Yes, yes, it is ! ” she persisted, 
as he tried to protest. “ It is unmanly and unkind ! ” 


28 o 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ But, Gertrude, my sweetheart,” cried Arthur, desperately, try- 
ing at the same time to draw her closer. 

But she took her hands from his shoulders and drew back 
quickly with her hands still upraised, and said, “ No ; you must 
not touch me. My mind is made up. I shall marry Mr. Yates. 
I have promised. And there must be no more of this between 
us.” 

“ Promise ! ” exclaimed Arthur. “ It was no promise. He 
forced it from you, through a misunderstanding. He did not get 
it fairly ; he took advantage of you ! ” 

“ No,” said Gertrude, simply. “You are wrong. You do not 
know all. It was I who took advantage of him. I was deeply 
wounded, and in my pride I accepted him. I told him that I did 
not love him, but I gave him my word that I would marry him.” 

“ I tell you, Gertrude,” rejoined Arthur, hotly, “ no man would 
bind you to keep your word under such circumstances, and even if 
he did there is no reason why you should.” 

“Oh, Arthur, you do not mean that!” she said. “You, who 
are the soul of honor I What credit would there be in keeping our 
word only when it pleased us ? What would our honor be worth 
if we followed it only when it was pleasant and easy,? You do 
not mean that, Arthur, because — because — Did not you keep a 
promise that was less binding than mine.? You kept it, and I 
know from what you have said that you would have kept it even if 
it had ruined your life.” 

“ / .? I was a fool ! and as for ruining my life, it seems to have 
ruined it as it is I My God ! am I never to have done with that 
piece of idiocy ! Is that woman’s scheme to separate us, going 
to be successful, after all ! Don’t let her come between us, 
Gertrude, little girl ! She has made enough misery already. And, 
after all, what have I done, that I should be so punished .? If I 
am to lose you now — now that I know you love me — I would 
rather her husband had killed me. Yes, rather than that she 
should come between us now, hating her though I do, I would 
rather she had succeeded in making me the companion of her 
miserable life. It would have been less hard to bear.” 

“ Oh, my dear,” cried Gertrude, the tears springing to her eyes, 
“ Don’t say that ! For my sake, if you love me, don’t say that I ” 

“ It is because I love you so that I say it,” replied Arthur. “ I 
cannot live and lose you ! And, as for seeing you the wife of 
this man — oh, it is monstrous ! I could not bear it ! ” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


281 


“ Arthur, listen to me,” said Gertrude. “ Since I have been 
called upon to decide this matter, I have thought it all out. I 
have prayed over it. Ail night long I have struggled to see it as 
you would have me see it ; yes, as I myself would have it, but it is 
of no use. It is harder for me than it is for you, because you at 
least will be alone — free — with your own thoughts, and free to 
find distraction in the society of others — though you will never 
forget me, will you } — while I, I will have ” — her voice faltered 
and she paused for a moment, and then bravely continued : 
“ Don’t make it worse for me than it is, Arthur ! You have often 
told me that you believed me better than other women. I am 
not. But, at least, I can keep my word. It is of him that I must 
think. I have permitted him to love me, understanding that I did 
not love him in return, but with the promise that I would marry 
him. I cannot in honor retract. Even you would not respect 
me as much if I broke my word. No, no, I know what you are 
going to say, but the time would come when you would remem- 
ber it. And anyway I should always remember it myself, and 
how could I be to you all that a wife should be to her husband, 
feeling that I had forfeited the least portion of your respect ? It 
used to trouble me, sometimes, to hear you say how good I was, 
and knowing my own weakness, I have trembled for fear that 
some day you would find me wanting. That is the only consola- 
tion I have in all this now ; I have an opportunity to prove myself 
not altogether unworthy of what you think me — not altogether 
unworthy of your love.” 

“ You mean that you will marry this man } ” said Arthur. 

“ I mean that if he holds me to my promise, I will keep it,” 
replied Gertrude. 

“ But if you tell him the truth and he has a spark of manhood in 
him, he must release you,” said Arthur. “ Let me tell him,” 
he added, grimly, “and I am sure he will release you.” 

“ I have already told him,” said Gertrude, with lowered 
gaze. 

“ When } ” said Arthur, eagerly. “ This morning.^ ” 

She nodded her head. 

“ And what did he say ? ” 

“ That he knew it already.” 

“ What ! ” exclaimed Arthur. “ That you loved me ? ” 

“ On, no, no,” cried Gertrude, shrinking, “ I could not tell him 
that ! ” 


282 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ But I can,” said Arthur, “ and I will. And what is more, he 
shall give you up or I’ll know the reason why ! ” 

“ You must not ! ” exclaimed Gertrude, quickly. 

“ But I will ! ” he said. 

“ rforbid you to,” she replied, resolutely. “ I forbid you to see 
him ; to speak to him ! ” 

Arthur was silent for a moment, and then looking at her 
curiously, he said, “ Are you not just a little in love with Mr. 
Yates, after all.^ Because if you are, of course, I have nothing 
more to say.” 

She did not answer him immediately. Then turning she looked 
him straight in the face while the tears slowly blinded her 
eyes. 

“ I do not think,” she said, at last, very quietly, “ that you 
understand exactly what you are saying.” 

In an instant he was kneeling at her feet. “ My darling ! ” he 
cried, “ I did not mean it ! I would not hurt you for all the 
world ! Forgive me, please, forgive me ! My love for you drives 
me mad, so that I don’t know what I say. Oh, Gertrude, I will 
do anything that you want, I will be guided by you as I have 
been all my life, if you will only love me ! If you will only love 
me, I will do anything in the wide world for your dear 
sake ! ” 

“ Will you ? ” she said, relenting instantly and fondly brushing 
the hair away from his upturned forehead with a caressing touch. 
“ Will you be my own dear boy once more, and — and — leave 
me ? ” 

Then as he started and was about to arise, she detained him by 
a slight pressure of her hand and added, “For my sake ! Will 
you leave me, for my sake ? For both of our sakes; for the sake 
of our honor ? ” 

He was quite still for a few moments, with his head bowed 
under her hand. Then looking up, he saw how pale she was, 
how her eyes were brimming with tears and her teeth were sunk 
in her trembling lip, and a faint conception of what she was suffer- 
ing for the sake of what she believed to be right, filled him with 
exalted adoration for her, and subdued him to her will. With a 
long drawn breath, he answered, “ If that is what you want me 
to do, for you sake, I will try my best. But — I had rather 
die ! ” 

Bending forward, she pressed a kiss upon his forehead, and 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


283 


sighed almost inaudibly, “ Ah, so would I ! ” Then arising 
hurriedly, she whispcre-d, “ Go now, go ! ” And as he still hesi- 
tated, she drew herself up, with quivering chin and the tears 
rolling down her cheeks, and pointing to the door, said, with 
trembling voice, “ Will you not do as I ask you ? ” 

There was no recourse for him but to obey. 


i ' , 


CHAPTER XLII. 


That afternoon when Kate returned home from her visit to 
Gertrude, she sought her mother’s room and sitting down without 
removing her bonnet, gazed out of the window. 

“Did you see Gertrude?” said Catherine, looking up from her 
knitting, as Kate showed no intention of speaking. 

Kate slowly nodded her head. 

“ How does she look ? ” said Catherine. 

“ About the same,” said Kate, without taking her eyes from the 
street. 

“ Well, but tell me about her,” said Catherine, remonstratively. 
“ Is she glad to get home ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Kate. Then, arousing herself, she turned 
and looking in her mother’s face, said : “ Mamma, when I went to 
see Gertrude I found Arthur just coming away.” 

“ Yes ? ” said her mother, not much impressed by the fact. 

“You know he said he was going to the Navy Department,” con- 
tinued Kate, “ and when I told him I w^as going to see Gertrude, 
he did not say anything about going there himself.” 

“ Oh, well, Kate,” said Catherine, apologetically, “he probably 
thought of something he wanted to tell your Aunt Mary.” 

“ No,” said Kate, “he only saw Gertrude, and when I met him 
coming away he looked so strange and scarcely spoke to me. 
And when I went up to Gertrude’s room I found her crying as 
though her heart would break.” 

Then Catherine’s hands slow’ly sank into her lap and she looked 
at Kate. For fully a minute neither of them spoke. Finally, with 
a sort of despairing emphasis, Kate said, “ Do you know, mamma, 
I have thought all along that Arthur was in love with Gertrude, 
and, from what I saw to-day, I believe that Gertrude is in love 
with him ! ” 

“ Then why has she engaged herself to that man ? ” demanded 
Arthur’s mother, indignantly. 

“ I don’t know,” said Kate thoughtfully, shaking her head. 

284 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


285 


“Unless,” she added, after a pause, “unless it is that she and 
Arthur had had some trouble and she engaged herself to Mr. Yates 
while she was angry. The more I think of it,” Kate continued, 
with an air of conviction, “ the more I am inclined to believe that 
that is the secret of it all.” 

“ That is not like Gertrude,” said Catherine, decidedly, “ I don’t 
believe that she would do anything so silly or — or so wicked,” she 
added. 

“ Well, I don’t know then,” said Kate, “ I don’t know what else 
to think of it.” 

Then followed another silence during which the thoughts of 
both were busy with the past, in the light of Kate’s discovery. At 
last Catherine with a poor pretence of conviction said, “ If it 
should be true and Gertrude knows that Arthur loves her and she 
cares anything for him, of course she won’t marry Mr. Yates.” 

“ You can’t tell,” said Kate, “ she might think it was her duty.” 

“ Her duty, Katie ! ” cried Catherine, with great warmth. “ She 
surely cannot think it her duty to marry a man she does not love I 
To my mind, that would be a sin! ” 

“Gertrude may not look at it in that way,” said Kate, “and 
whatever she believes is right, she will do, and all the talking in 
the world won’t alter it.” 

Then came another long silence, at the end of which Kate arose 
with a sigh. “ If it had only happened a year ago I should have 
been so glad. But now — poor Arthur, I never saw him look so 
unhappy before.” 

Catherine said nothing, but in her heart all the forces of a 
mother’s love were gathered to do battle for her first born’s sake. 
She determined that he should not be made unhappy, he should 
not be made to suffer, not if she could prevent it, and she could 
and would prevent it. Anxiously she waited Arthur’s return, that 
she might judge for herself, and, as the afternoon passed away and 
he did not come, her fears began to be realized. It was not until 
the hour for dinner had arrived that he made his appearance, and 
then it required but a glance of his mother’s eye to confirm her 
suspicions. 

There was no doubt but that he was in trouble, not that he 
betrayed himself by any unusual exhibition of emotion — on the 
contrary, feeling that these women were watching him, he was on 
his guard, and acted a careless, light-hearted part to the best of 
his ability ; but the events of the afternoon had left their mark. 


286 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


Unable to confine this momentous discovery to her own breast, 
Catherine, not without some misgivings, resolved to confide the 
secret to the person to whom sooner or later she confided every 
thought. Not without some misgiving, for the reason that she 
feared her husband would not take the same view of the matter, 
as she insisted on taking. With Machiavellian subtlety, therefore, 
she determined to sound the major before telling him the whole 
truth. Accordingly, when they had retired to the privacy of their 
own apartment, that night, and the subject of conversation nat- 
urally turned to Arthur's arrival and appearance, Catherine 
remarked, “ I think he is so changed, Tom.” 

“ Why, now, do you, my dear ? ” said the major, in a surprised 
tone. “For my part I don’t see that he has changed at all, he’ 
looks exactly the same as when he left.” 

“ I don’t mean his face,” said Catherine, “ but his ways and 
manner.” 

“ Oh, he isn’t changed a particle,” said the major, “ not a par- 
ticle. A little more subdued, perhaps, a little more thoughtful, 
but that is natural, he is older and has been rubbing against the 
world.” 

“ He seems to me,” said Catherine, “ as though he had some- 
thing on his mind.” 

“ Oh, nonsense, my dear ! ” said the major, “ that is all fancy. 
What should he have on his mind ? Except, perhaps, his exami- 
nation for promotion, and from what I have heard his superior offi- 
cers say, he has no reason to fear that.” 

“ He may be in love with some one,” ventured Catherine tim- 
idly. 

Whereat the major laughed. “ Of course he is,” he replied. 
“ Every midshipman is in love with somebody, half a dozen some- 
bodies.” 

“ I don’t think it is a subject to make a jest of, Tom,” said Cath- 
erine, severely. 

“ Well, my dear,” said the major, remonstratively, “ then don’t 
have such silly, romantic notions about the boy.” 

A pause followed this little passage, broken by Catherine say- 
ing : “ Do you think Gertrude is any better for the trip ? ” 

“ Well,” replied the major, ignoring the significant sequence, “ I 
saw so little of her I could not judge, especially as she was tired 
with travelling. Her eyes seem brighter and she has more color 
than when she left.” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 287 

“ Have you heard when she is to be married ? ” continued Cath- 
erine. 

“ No,” said the major, with little show of interest, 

“ Tom,’’ said Catherine, as though the idea then and there 
occurred to her, for the first time, “ Tom, I am quite sure that 
Gertrude does not care anything for Mr. Yates. It is a wonder to 
me how she ever became engaged to him. I don’t believe she 
knows her own mind.” 

“ Quite possibly, my dear ; women seldom do,” replied her hus- 
band, dryly. 

“ It would be very unfortunate if she or Arthur cared anything 
for each other, now,” said Catherine, reflectively. 

“ How that idea runs in your head, Catherine,” said the major, im- 
patiently. “ Why should they suddenly fall in love with each other 
now, any more than they did before Gertrude became engaged ? ” 

His wife made no reply and after a few moments’ silence, as she 
herself in fact expected, the major was provoked into inquiring, 
“ Why do you suggest such a thing ? ” 

This was what Catherine was waiting for, and so, proceeding 
with her story, she told her husband what Kate had seen and how 
her own observation had confirmed Kate’s conjectures. But 
although she involuntarily colored the incidents to suit her inter- 
pretation, the effect created on the major was disappointing. In 
fact he pooh-poohed the whole idea as a pet theory of Catherine’s, 
reawakened by a fancy of Miss Kate’s, whose thoughts, he said, 
were naturally running in a sentimental channel just now. 

Catherine rather resented this summary disposition of the mat- 
ter, and gave vent to a sigh which said as plainly as possible, “ It 
is no use trying to convince you, my dear, but one of these days 
you will give me credit for having some little perception.” Of 
which protest, however, the major took no notice, his thoughts 
having travelled off until arriving at a sudden suspicion, he said, 
“ At any rate, even if there is any reason to suppose that Arthur 
cares for Gertrude, it will do no good now to talk of it. It would 
be unwise in the extreme for him to cherish any such feeling, and 
I sincerely hope that you and Kate will be very cautious not to 
encourage anything of the sort.” And he looked at his wife for 
assent. 

“ But,” she replied, “ I don’t see why, Tom.” 

“ Why ! ” said the major, with surprised emphasis, “ simply 
because Gertrude is engaged to marry Mr. Yates.” 


288 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ But if she loves Arthur and Arthur loves her ? ” ventured 
Catherine. 

“ That does not alter the case,” said the major firmly, “ they 
should have discovered that before. What \vould you think of 
her if she was engaged to Arthur and broke her engagement to 
marry Mr. Yates ? ” 

“ But, Tom,” urged Catherine, “ it is a very different matter. 
If she does not love Mr. Yates it would be doing him a great 
wrong for her to marry him. Supposing she had made a mistake 
why should she not rectify it before it is too late? Why should 
she and Arthur be made miserable on that account ? If I could 
only talk to her, Tom,” continued Catherine earnestly, “ I know I 
could help matters very much.” 

“ Once more, my dear,” said her husband very decidedly, “ I 
must beg of you not to interfere in any way, shape or form. In 
the first place your idea is chimerical in the extreme, and even if it 
were not, you will only make mischief by meddling in the affair. 
Really, I must insist upon your having nothing to do with it, 
whatever. Do you understand ? ” 

Yes, Catherine understood, and she knew her husband well 
enough to understand that this was final. So she said no more. 
At the same time her intention to take some action in the case, 
for Arthur’s sake, was not in the least altered. She had the 
greatest respect and admiration for her husband’s judgment, and 
in nearly all the affairs of life she allowed herself to be governed 
by it, implicitly. But there were occasions, especially in matters 
of this nature, when she believed that her owm judgment was 
quite as good, nay, even superior to that of Major Arlingford. 
Her heart misgave her at the thought of disobeying him outright, 
and in any other cause she would have repelled the temptation, 
but for Arthur’s sake she was content to suffer the pangs of con- 
science. She relieved her mind somewhat by detailing the con- 
versation to Kate, and at the same time vindicating her proposed 
course to herself. 

“ Papa is so odd about some things,” she said, “ I can’t under- 
stand him. The idea of supposing that Gertrude is bound to marry 
Mr. Yates when she does not love him and does love somebody else, 
just because he has worried and tormented her into saying ‘ yes ! ’ 
And then papa said that if she was engaged to Arthur and broke the 
engagement to marry Mr. Yates I would not feel as I do. That 
is just like a man ! As though there was not all the difference in 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


289 

the world. And as for making mischief by meddling,” continued 
Catherine, with dignity, “ I am not going to ‘ meddle ’ ; I shall see 
Gertrude and find out for myself whether she and Arthur care 
anything for each other, because of course we may be mistaken.” 

“ But how will you find out ? ” said Kate. 

“ Oh, I can manage that very easily,” replied her mother. “ Of 
course I don't intend to let her know, but there are plenty of ways 
of finding it out. And then if it is so, I shall talk to her plainly 
and tell her what I think, just as if she was my own daughter.” 

“ Oh, mamma,” said Kate, deprecatingly, “ I don’t think I 
would, if I were you.” 

“ And why not, my dear,” said her mother, with an assumption 
of surprise. “ Gertrude has always been like a daughter to me, 
and I have no more hesitation in talking to her than I would have * 
in talking to you.” 

“Yes, but it is different,” said Kate. “It might do more harm 
than good.” 

“ That is for me to judge, Katie,” said her mother. 

“ But you know, papa said that you had better not interfere,” 
persisted Kate, who secretly had great awe of her father’s deci- 
sions and fear of the consequences of disobeying them. 

But her mother replied with dignity, “ That will do, my dear. I 
am responsible for my actions, not you.” Which ended the dis- 
cussion, as far as Kate was concerned. 

On the evening of the day following Catherine’s disclosure to 
her husband, that gentleman announced to his wife that Arthur 
had determined to spend the ensuing week at Carleton, preparing 
for his examination. “ Of course,” said the major, closing the 
book he was reading, and removing his eye-glasses, “ of course he 
is well enough up in the practical details of his profession, but 
there is always a mass of theoretical knowledge on which anyone 
gets rusty, and which needs reading up ; and Arthur thinks,, very 
wisely, that he can do much better work by getting off alone in 
that quiet old place, and making a business of it. There is so 
much going on here in the way of pleasure, and he is liable to so 
many interruptions, that I strongly advised him to follow out that 
idea. To be sure,” he continued, toying with his eye-glasses and 
regarding his wife who sat on the other side of the library table, 
engaged in some fancy work, “ to be sure it is rather a depriva- 
tion to us, especially as he has only just returned, but his 
examination will be over in ten days and then we can have him 

19 


290 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


entirely to ourselves, with no feeling that he is neglecting his duty 
to interfere with our enjoyment.” 

Not a word was said of Gertrude, and yet Catherine felt that 
this project was because of her, and that the major now secretly 
believed that she, Catherine, was right in her conjectures. This 
vindication of her penetration, however, brought her no satisfac- 
tion. Her boy, who had only just been returned to her, was 
going away wounded, going away alone to struggle with his 
unhappiness, and her mother’s heart was full of bitterness. She 
kept her head bent over her work while her husband spoke, and 
when he had finished, a tear dropped upon her worsteds. The 
major could not see her face but he knew very well that that tear 
had fallen. And he also knew that in the morning Catherine 
would talk with Gertrude on this very forbidden subject, if, in 
fact, she had not already done so. But he said nothing. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


Huxley has compared life to a game of chess, which we are 
each and all of us called upon to play; the board being the 
world, the pieces the phenomena of the universe, while the rules 
of the game are what are termed the laws of nature. The player 
on the other side is hidden from us. We know that his play is 
always fair, just and patient, but we also know to our cost, that 
he never overlooks a mistake or makes the smallest allowance for ^ 
ignorance. To him who plays well, the highest stakes are paid, 
but he who plays ill is checkmated without haste, but without 
remorse. Now the records of the game show that unskilled youth, 
with its charming confidence, almost invariably makes the fatal 
mistake of advancing its future in pawn for a present advantage. 
That period seems so far away, its resources so exhaustless, that 
despite the teaching of the books and the advice of old players, 
youth cannot resist this apparently simple solution of its early 
problems. 

And so it was that when Gertrude had found herself environed 
and harassed by the events of the last year, she had put her 
future in pawn. Ignorant of the value of her pieces, she was now 
discovering to her cost that she had thrown away those most 
valued in the game. She had learned, alas ! what love meant, 
just as her knight was being swept from the board, and the game 
seemed to her no longer worth the playing. She was now begin- 
ning to understand the nature of Mr. Yates’ passion ; what it 
meant to be engaged ; what marriage signified ; and her soul 
sickened with sudden dread and repulsion. 

It was at this moment when expecting Arthur, that Mr. Yates’ 
card had been brought to her. Now if that gentleman had taken 
any decided course in this interview, if he had shown himself glad 
or sorry, pleased or aggrieved, if he had upbraided her or tried to 
conciliate her, he would in all probability have done or said the 
wrong thing, and had all Gertrude’s gusty passions concentrated 
on him with perhaps the result of parting the tie that joined them 

291 


292 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


together. For once, ho'wever, his humble immobility and stolid 
persistency stood him in good stead. He was simply passive. 
Pale and hungry-eyed he waited with humility for her to declare 
herself. He agreed to all that she said, with a little nervous 
laugh that kept any serious phase of their meeting in the back- 
ground. All this was exasperating enough, but it gave the pale- 
faced, brilliant-eyed girl in front of him no just pretext for venting 
her emotions, and Yates finally went away with their relations 
unaltered. Only once had he been in great danger, and that was 
when Gertrude demanded of him his reasons for not meeting her 
on her arrival in New York. Then he confessed that he had been 
at the dock when the steamer came in, but seeing her with her 
friends had thought perhaps that she would not like to have him 
intrude upon her just then. This, with a conciliatory little laugh 
that fain would make light of the matter. She knew that he was 
not telling the truth, and a sudden repugnance for the physical 
man as he stood there, furtively watching her, made her .turn 
upon him and desperately attempt to reopen their last quarrel. 

“ You were jealous of my cousin Arthur ! ” she declared, 
with bitter scorn. “ Why don’t you say it like a man ? ” 

Then Mr. Yates, moved by a dull instinct to ignore anything 
like an acknowledgment that he considered his position insecure, 
replied eagerly, with an anxious expression that belied his words, 
“ No, oh, no ! You told me before you went away that I had no 
reason to be jealous of Arthur, and of course I believed you. 
Besides you have promised to marry me ; why should I think you 
care for him ? ” 

At these words, Gertrude’s head drooped. Had it been any 
other man she could have humbled herself before him, confessed 
all, and besought him to release her from her promise. But her 
pride revolted from degrading herself before Mr. Yates. She 
began to realize, with a sickening despair, that she was his 
prisoner, that his lower order of being had caged her finer organi- 
zation, and that unless she descended beneath his level she could 
not escape. 

After Yates’ departure, Gertrude sought refuge in the sanctuary 
of her bedchamber. The eager craving for Arthur’s presence 
had now disappeared, and in its place was a dread of his coming. 
She could not meet him in her present state. She felt herself 
unfit to enter again the pure temple of their love in which she had 
innocently dwelt for a few hours, Not that Mr. Yates had even 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


293 


SO much as taken her hand, for from the day when she had tried 
to scour away the stain left by his first and last kiss, she had in- 
variably confined his attentions to distant courtesies, but she 
nevertheless felt defiled by her association with him this particular 
morning. To have talked or thought of love with Arthur, now, 
would have made her seem a guilty thing. 

When Arthur came that afternoon, Gertrude went to meet him 
with that feeling of exaltation with which martyrs have gone to 
the stake to uphold their creeds, firm in her intention to say fare- 
well to him, and to be as pure and good as he believed her. For 
his sake, for the sake of their love, she would be true to her 
plighted word. But when she had played her part, had closed the 
door upon that love and bade Arthur good-by forever, the most 
trying part of her undertaking began. The excitement, the exal- 
tation of her renunciation subsided and left her stranded on the 
dull, commonplace reality. It was hard to act, but it was hlftler 
to endure. 

The next morning she was awakened befor^ dawn by the load 
of unhappiness on her heart, and though her mind instinctively 
strove to remain in the refuge of sleep, her pillow was wet with 
tears before the sun was fairly up. She struggled bravely through 
the day to dismiss all thought of Arthur ; but the moment her 
vigilance was relaxed, he was present in her mind. Worse than 
this, she discovered that each time Mr. Yates recurred to her 
memory it was with an ever increasing pang, followed by a repug- 
nance which magnified all of his obnoxious characteristics. She • 
was beginning to hate her betrothed with an intensity th’at 
frightened her, that made her lose all confidence in herself and her 
ability to guide her own actions. She became uneasy at the 
strength of her own emotions. She looked back with longing to 
the calm confidence and peaceful purity of the past, before the 
blight of the world’s wickedness had touched her. Turbulent 
passions were but vague words to her then, and she remembered 
now how she had given her pity and sympathy to those whom the 
world condemned, saying innocently that they might have been 
tried beyond their strength. Would she be one of these.? She 
was beginning to understand now how crime was born, and the 
knowledge appalled her. 

When, at last, this first, long, weary day of her trial came to an 
end, she was heart-sick of the present and in despair of the future. 
Although she had not confessed it to herself, she had been 


294 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


buoyed up all through the twenty-four hours by the hope of 
Arthur’s coming once more. She did not stop to think or argue 
that having dismissed him and bidden him farewell, she could not 
reasonably expect him to return ; she did not search for excuses 
on which he might presume to see her again despite her orders to 
the contrary ; she simply believed that he would come. And 
when night fell and he did not come, she bitterly reproached him 
in her heart. Yes, the game of life had proved beyond her power 
to play and there was no help for her. 

The morning of the day following, as Gertrude sat in her own 
room gazing drearily out of the window, the maid came to her 
with the announcement that her Aunt Catherine was down-stairs. 

“ Did she ask for me, or for Aunt Mary ? ” said Gertrude, un- 
willing to see anyone, especially Arthur’s mother. 

“ She asked for you, miss,” said the girl. “ She said she wanted 
to see you particularly.” 

Asked to see her particularly ! What could that mean ? And 
giving a startled glance at herself in the mirror to see that her 
face did not betray recent tears, Gertrude went down-stairs with a 
beating heart. There was a small room back off the library and 
separated from it by heavy curtains, known in the family as the 
study, a retreat used for that and other purposes requiring privacy. 
It was here that Gertrude found her aunt. It was only when that 
lady advanced to meet her, saying quietly, “ I am glad to see you 
back, my dear,” that Gertrude remembered that she had not seen 
her since her return, and that there was not the least cause for 
alarm. This thought rather disconcerted her, and her embarrass- 
ment did not escape Mrs. Arlingford’s alert gaze, but was 
immediately attributed by that lady to the subject which had 
brought her there. Gertrude, seating herself with her back to the 
light, as she recalled with distress the pale face and hollow eyes 
that had looked at her from the mirror, quickly recovered her 
composure and entertained her aunt with commonplace remarks 
for several minutes. Then she gradually became aware that there 
was something more than a simple desire to welcome her home 
instigating this visit. Mrs. Arlingford’s diplomacy had always 
been the subject of affectionate jests with Gertrude and Kate. 
Her acting was so very transparent, her motives could be seen 
about as plainly through the veil as without it, and now Gertrude 
could see that her aunt was agitated by some secret mission, and, 
on her guard, she waited for it to develop. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


295 

“ Are you glad to get back, my dear? " said, Mrs. Arlingford, 
finally. 

“ Yes,” replied Gertrude ; “it is pleasant to be at home.” 

“ You are not looking quite so well as 1 hoped you would,” said 
Mrs. Arlingford. 

“ I have had a headache for a day or two,’’ said Gertrude. 
“ How well Kate is looking,” she continued, turning the conversa- 
tion from herself. 

“Yes; Kate is very well and very happy too, as, in fact, she 
ought to be. She is going to marry the man that she loves.” 
And Mrs. Arlingford changed color as she made this bold 
stroke. 

But Gertrude calmly answered, “ Yes, of course. When does 
Mr. Langdon return ? ” 

“ In about a month,” replied Mrs. Arlingford. “ You were for- 
tunate in having him to cross with you, and Arthur to bring you 
back.” 

“Yes,” again assented Gertrude; “ they were both very kind. 
Of course you are delighted at having Arthur home once 
more ? ” 

“ I would be, Gertrude,” said Mrs. Arlingford desperately, 
“ except that we have lost him so quickly.” 

It was Gertrude’s turn now to change color. “ Lost him ! ’* she 
exclaimed, looking at her aunt with a startled gaze. “ How ? 
Has he gone away ? ” 

“ No ; he has not gone, but he is going to-morrow,” replied 
Mrs. Arlingford, sadly. 

“ So soon ? ” murmured Gertrude. 

“ You expected it then ? ” said her aunt, quickly. 

Then, as Gertrude made no reply Mrs. Arlingford arose, and 
seating herself on a low ottoman at her side, laid her hand on 
Gertrude’s and said, “ Why have you sent him away ? ” 

“ I ? ” said Gertrude, withdrawing her hand. “ I don’t under- 
stand you.” 

“ Ah, my dear, it is of no use. I am his mother ; you cannot 
deceive me. Arthur loves you, and you know it.” 

“ And if he does,” replied Gertrude, with dignity, “ is it right 
that you should tell me of it ? ’* 

“ Why not ? ” replied Mrs. Arlingford warmly. “ Why is it not 
right ? ” 

“ Because I am engaged,” said Gertrude. “ You know that.” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


296 

“I know,” said Mrs. Arlingford, “that you have promised to 
marry a man you do not love. Oh, my dear,” she continued, in a 
pleading tone ; but Gertrude quickly interrupted her. 

“ Really, Aunt Catherine,” she said, arising from her seat, “ I 
don’t know what your object is in bringing this matter up ; but I 
hope you won’t think me rude or unkind if I tell you that I must 
decline to discuss it. Aunt Mary is satisfied with the arrange- 
ment.” 

“ I did not mean to assert any right, Gertrude,” replied Mrs. 
Arlingford, with considerable spirit, as she also arose, “ although 
surely all these years that I have loved you ought to give my 
advice some weight. I don’t presume for a moment to counsel 
you against your aunt’s wishes ; because she is entitled to your 
obedience. But I am quite sure that she has your happiness at 
heart, and that if she thoroughly understood the matter she would 
agree with me, that Mr. Yates is not the man to make you happy. 
When I first heard of your engagement to him, I was surprised 
and alarmed ; but I said nothing, because I did not understand it. 
I thought perhaps you loved him ; but now I know you do not.” 

“ I don’t know why you should make such a statement as that. 
Aunt Catherine,” said Gertrude. 

“ Can I not see it plainly enough ? ” replied Mrs. Arlingford. 
“ See here, now, Gertrude, if you will tell me that you do love Mr. 
Yates, I will never say another word about it.” 

“ It is not necessary for me to make any such assertions,” said 
Gertrude, evasively. “Mr. Yates has my promise, that is 
enough.” 

“ Oh, my dear ! ” said Mrs. Arlingford ; “ that is where you are 
making a fatal mistake. I do not ask you to tell me how you were 
led into giving that promise. You are young and inexperienced, 
and the fact that you do not love this man absolves you from it. 
It is a sin for a woman to marry a man she does not love ; a sin 
that brings a lifetime of punishment. As I say, you are young ; 
you do not know what you are doing. Gertrude, if your sainted 
mother were to come back on earth at this moment, she would 
forbid this marriage. You know that ; in your secret heart you 
know it. Oh, my dear ! listen to me. When, years ago, I first 
took you into my lap, a poor motherless babe, you put your little 
arms around my neck and called me mamma. I pressed you 
close to my breast and whispered that I would be your mamma ; 
and that night, in my prayers, I promised your mother that I 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


297 


would love and cherish you as long as I lived. I know that she 
was happier for that ; and I have tried to keep my promise ; I 
have tried as far as they would let me. Have I not ? ” 

Gertrude, with a dreamy gaze blinded by tears, silently bowed 
her head. 

“ You used to come to me with all your little griefs and 
troubles,” continued her aunt, greatly moved. “You used to 
confide in me ; but in this one matter, which I have always had 
most at heart, you have avoided me. I could not force your confi- 
dence ; but now that I know the truth, I feel as though I was not 
doing my duty, as though I was not keeping my promise to your 
mother, if I remained silent any longer. Oh, my darling ! be 
guided by me ! confide in me ! will you not ? ” 

“ Dear Aunt Catherine,” replied Gertrude, in a low, broken 
voice, “ I have nothing to confide.” 

“ You have nothing to confide?” said Mrs. Arlingford. “You 
will not own to the truth, then ? Shall I tell it to you ? ” 

And, as Gertrude made no answer, she went on hurriedly, 
recklessly. “ You not only do not love this man you are about to 
marry, but you do love another ; and that other is my son, Arthur 
Arlingford ! Deny it, if you can ! ” she interrupted quickly, as 
Gertrude was about to speak. “ Deny it, if you can ! ” 

“ Aunt Catherine,” said Gertrude, coldly and gravely, “ all this 
is very painful and unnecessary. My dear mother in heaven 
knows that I am doing what I believe is right, and no words can 
make me act differently. Don’t let us talk any more about it ; it 
will do no good.” 

And Mrs. Arlingford, as she stood a few moments in the silence 
that ensued, looking at the girl’s face, realized that what she said 
was true ; realized that her mission had failed. Her lips trembled 
and the tears slowly filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. 
Evading Gertrude’s attempt to put her arm around her waist, she 
turned from her, and lowering her veil, left the room with a feeble 
step and drooping head. 

For a moment, Gertrude’s heart swelled with sorrow and pity, 
as she silently watched her aunt’s departure ; but the emotions of 
the past few days were wearing away her strength and exhaust- 
ing her tears ; she was becoming apathetic, almost indifferent to 
whatever might happen. 

At last, arousing herself with a deep sigh, she was about to seek 
her own room, when a servant entered and said in a low tone. 


298 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


"Excuse me, miss; but Mr. Yates is in the library. He called 
while your aunt was here, and said he would not disturb you, but 
would wait in there.” 

" Give him my compliments,” said Gertrude, " and say that I 
am not well and beg to be excused.” 

Then something in the expression of the maid’s face awoke her 
attention, and she said in a lowered voice, " Stop a moment ; 
where did you say he was ? 

" In the library, miss,” murmured the woman, with rather a 
frightened air, at the same time motioning to the adjoining room. 

" In there ! Why did you not show him into the parlor ? ” 

Then, without listening to the girl’s excuse, with a sudden 
impulse she advanced to the other end of the small apartment and 
drew aside the curtains. 

Yes ; there was Mr. Yates standing in the middle of the room. 
One glance at his face was sufficient to confirm Gertrude’s sudden 
suspicion. Undoubtedly he had overheard her conversation with 
her aunt. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


Pausing for a moment to rally her self-possession, Gertrude 
walked up to her betrothed, as he stood without making any 
sign of greeting, and herself throwing down the gauntlet, said with 
a certain imperious air, “ Well ! ” 

“ Well,” responded Yates, sullenly. 

Then fpllowed a significant silence. Yates was the first to 
break it. In a half defiant, half apologetic tone, he said, “ I did 
not know you were in there. The servant told me you had a 
visitor, and I said I would come in here and wait till you were at 
leisure, and — and — ” 

“ And you heard what was said,” concluded Gertrude, finishing 
the sentence for him. 

“ Yes ; I heard what was said,” replied Yates, morosely. Then, 
with growing anger as he thought of it, he burst forth, “ I heard 
what she said ! I heard her say,” and a nervous contraction of 
the throat causing him to swallow, checked his words, “ I heard 
her say that her son Arthur loved you, and that you loved him, 
and that you could not deny it ! And you didn’t deny it ! ” Then, 
with another change in his voice, he added, pleadingly, “ I could 
not hear what you said very well. Did you deny it .^ ” 

There was something pathetic in this swift appeal that might 
well have touched the heart of the woman, love for whom inspired 
it. But Gertrude had no pity to bestow, just now, and answered 
coldly, 

“ Under the circumstances, Mr. Yates, you can hardly expect 
me to go over the conversation again for your benefit after you 
have once listened to it.” 

“ I did not listen to it ! ” cried Yates, angrily. 

Gertrude simply shrugged her shoulders in reply. 

Then, with a malevolent expression on his face, Yates walked up 
to Gertrude and said in a dogged. tone, “ Some day you will go too 
far with me. I can’t stand everything.” 

But Gertrude, with a mood fully as reckless and defiant as his 

299 


300 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


own, faced him squarely with a steadfast look, beneath which his 
eyes slowly fell. 

“Unless you can alter your manner,” she said quietly, “I 
shall be under the necessity of asking you to leave me.” 

At this, Yates turned away abruptly and threw himself into a 
chair. Then, to Gertrude’s surprise, his chin began to tremble, 
and tears stood in his eyes. The sight was a strange one to her, 
and for a moment she was moved by it, for a moment only, for, as 
she stood looking at him trying to think of some softer thing to 
say, he sprang from his seat and walked to and fro with disordered 
steps, exclaiming, “ You have always treated me like a dog, and 1 
won’t stand it ! ” 

“ I don’t think I have treated you badly,” said Gertrude. 

“ Yes ; you have, too ! ” he repeated, with a faltering voice, 
pausing to arrange a scarf that hung over the back of a chair. 
“You think I have no pride, that I have no feeling, but I have; 
and sometimes when you treat me as you do I don’t know whether 
I love you or hate you the most ! ” 

As Gertrude made no reply to this, he continued, “ I can see it 
all plainly enough. I am not such a fool as you think I am. I 
know you think I am a fool. Yes, you do. Why did you make 
me love you } What did you lead me on for } Oh, I wish 1 was 
dead ! ” 

“ Mr. Yates,” said Gertrude, “ you ought not to talk that way ; 
you have no reason for it. You know as well as I do that I have 
always behaved toward you with consideration. If I ever have 
hurt your feelings,” she added, after a moment’s reflection, “ it 
was unintentional, and I am sorry for it.” 

“ Sorry ! ” he interrupted, angrily. “ What good does that do ? 
I tell you I have done more for you — ” here his voice broke, but 
recovering himself, he continued, “ Your aunt knows all about it. 
Ask her. She’ll tell you. She promised me more than a year ago 
that you should marry me.” 

“ What } ” said Gertrude, quickly, looking at him with a puzzled 
expression. “ What did you say ? ” 

“ Never mind,” replied Yates, recovering himself. 

“ But I do mind,” said Gertrude, “and I insist upon knowing. 
It may make a great deal of difference.” 

“ Will it } ” cried Yates, grasping at her words with sudden 
hope. Then with a quick change of manner, he cried, “ Oh, 
Gertrude, tell me that you don’t love that man ! Swear that you 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 30I 

will never marry him ; that you will marry me as you promised. 
Don’t keep me in suspense any longer ! I can’t bear it ! ” 

“Mr. Yates,” said Gertrude, irritably, “you wear my patience 
out. Why should I swear any such things You have my prom- 
ise, and that is enough.” 

“ Then fulfil your promise ! Marry me ! Marry me, now ! ” 
cried Yates, excitedly. “ What is the use of waiting any longer? 
Why not marry me now, this minute ? We have been engaged 
long enough. Put on your hat, and come with me now. Lots of 
people get married that way.” And he tried with feverish eager- 
ness to take her hand. 

But Gertrude drew back. “You are talking nonsense,” she 
said. 

“ You will not ? ” 

“No,” she answered ; “certainly not.” 

“ Then don’t ! ” he exclaimed, suddenly, turning white with rage. 
“ Don’t ! Go and starve with that midshipman, that cousin of 
yours ! I know that you love him, damn him ! I have always 
known it. I’m not blind ! You think you have a fortune, don’t 
you ? But you haven’t ! No ; you haven’t ! You haven’t a penny 
to your name ! I would have given it all back to you, and never 
said a word about it. But I won’t now ! No ; I won’t ! ” And 
in his fury he shouted the words at the top of his voice. 

“In heaven’s name!” cried Gertrude, “what do you mean?” 

“ What do I mean ? ” repeated Yates. “ That your uncle robbed 
you of your fortune, and gambled it away at the club. That’s 
what I mean. Your aunt told me that if I didn’t say anything 
about it, you should marry me. And if you had married me, I 
would have given you back your money and never said a word 
about it. But I won’t now ! By God, I won’t be made a fool of 
any longer I ” And rapidly pacing the room, gesticulating with 
his arms and moving his head from side to side, he kept repeat- 
ing, “ I won’t stand this any longer ! ” 

As she listened to these revelations, Gertrude’s face grew paler 
and paler; the shadows under her eyes darker. Clasping her 
hands till the knuckles became white, she raised them to her 
trembling lips, and with her eyes full of frightened bewilderment, 
stood motionless, gazing at Yates. Then, suddenly starting into 
life, she threw her hands violently from her, and stepping in front 
of him, with her shoulders back, and her head erect, she cried pas- 
sionately, “ Is this true ? ” 


302 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


“ Well/' replied Yates, sullenly, alarm at what he had done be- 
ginning to replace his short-lived passion, “ never mind whether it 
is or not.” 

But, with her eyes flashing and her mouth quivering, Gertrude 
said in a voice that vibrated with indignation, “ Mr. Yates, our 
engagement is at an end ! I will never marry you ! Never ! 
Never ! ” Then, drawing a long, sobbing breath, she cried, “ Am 
I a thing to be traded for a debt } Oh, shameful, shameful ! ” 
And, resolutely repressing the tears that rushed to her eyes, she 
turned from him, and moved towards the door. 

Then, for the first time she became aware that they were not 
alone. Her aunt was standing in the doorway. With one hand 
leaning against the frame and the other pressed against her heart, 
she looked strangely old and haggard. 

“ Aunt Mary ! ” cried Gertrude, with indignant protest in her 
voice, as she stopped. Then, extending her arms she said, implor- 
ingly, “ Say that it is not true ; that it is false ! Oh, say that it is 
false ! ” 

But Mrs. Arlingford slowly shook her head. Directing a stern 
gaze at Yates, who stood in the middle of the room biting his 
nails, she said, huskily, “ They have heard you all over the house ; 
but I am glad that you have broken your promise. I am glad 
that she is free at any price.” 

Turning her eyes once more toward the shrinking Gertrude, she 
extended her hand, with a beseeching gesture, while she silently 
essayed to speak. 

For a moment, Gertrude returned the gaze with a pale, unmoved 
face ; then her lips began to quiver, and she said, in a trembling 
voice, “ How could you } Oh, how could you ? ” 

Again Mrs. Arlingford endeavored unsuccessfully to speak; 
but, though her voice failed her, the mute beseeching of her gaze 
was more eloquent than words ; it was a pleading so intense 
it seemed as though all the senses which were deserting her had 
rallied in her eyes. 

“I loved you. Aunt Mary !” Gertrude cried, eagerly, advancing 
a step, while her outstretched hands clenched and unclenched 
themselves and her breath came with labor. “ I loved you so ! ” 
And then, breaking down completely, she buried her face in her 
hands and sobbed passionately. 

For a moment, with a look of hopeless misery, the poor old eyes 
regarded the pretty bowed head, and then suddenly dilating with 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 303 

an expression of pain, they closed, a spasm crossed the pale face, 
and Mrs. Arlingford sank senseless to the floor. 

At the sound of her fall, Gertrude sprang forward with a 
scream, and throwing herself beside her aunt, tenderly pillowed 
the gray head on her breast. Rocking to and fro, she cried, “ She 
is dead ! She is dead ! And I have killed her ! Oh, go for a 
doctor, some one ! Aunt Mary ! Aunt Mary, I do forgive you ! 
Don’t die before you hear me say that ! Help, oh, help ! Don’t 
let her die ! ” 

There was a movement of frightened women servants in the 
hall, where they had gathered at the unusual sound of Yates’ 
angry voice. While one rushed for a doctor, another under the 
orders of Mrs. Arlingford’s maid, brought pillows, restoratives, 
unfastened the prostrate woman’s dress, chafed her hands, and 
did what their experience suggested to restore her. 

The doctor arrived, and as he bent over the lifeless form, Ger- 
trude, with her face hidden in her hands, knelt and prayed. 
Seconds passed, seeming like hours. The clicking of a glass tube 
against the senseless woman’s teeth as the doctor dropped some 
medicine into her mouth, sounded loud in the stillness. There 
was no visible result, and again the medicine was administered. 
A faint flutter of the eyelids, just perceptible to the practised eye 
of the physican, and the doctor, with his fingers upon the patient’s 
wrist, spoke for the first time. “ Go, get her bed ready,” he said 
in a low tone. 

Gertrude raised her head, and looked at him wildly. 

“ She is rallying,” he said, reassuringly. 

Then Gertrude hid her face in the folds of her aunt’s dress, and 
whispered between her stifled sobs, “ Thank God ! Thank God ! ” 

Meanwhile, during the confusion, Yates silently left the house. 


CHAPTER XLV. 


It was one o’clock in the afternoon of this same day. Major 
Arlingford and Arthur were sitting at luncheon with the pre-occu- 
pied and restless air of men whose daily routine has been dis- 
turbed by some unusual event. Although the ceremony of the 
meal had been observed, very few of the plates had been touched. 
The major, leaning back in his chair, meditatively cast a reflection 
of the sunlight from his eye-glasses on the polished surface of 
the mahogany table, while Arthur, with his elbow on the arm of 
his chair and his head upon his hand, played with his fork. At 
last Arthur threw the fork down, and raising his head, said, “ I 
have half a mind to go over there and see if there is anything I 
can do.” 

“ I don’t think I would if I were you,” said the major, sooth- 
ingly. “Your mother and Kate are both there and the doctor 
promised me that if there was any change he would let me know 
immediately. You would only disturb them.” 

Another interval of silence followed, again broken by Arthur. 
“ Don’t you suppose that Aunt Mary must have had some sort of 
shock to bring on such an attack ? ” he said. 

“ Not necessarily,” replied the major. “ Although it can hardly 
be said that she is subject to them, she has had similar attacks 
before. In fact, she had one exactly like this, last spring.” Then 
he added, not without a troubled look, “ Your mother was there 
this morning, about eleven o’clock, but I understood her to say 
that she did not see your aunt because she was not feeling very 
well. She saw Gertrude, only. Then she had scarcely been 
home an hour when they sent for her with the news of your 
aunt’s sudden illness.” 

“Gertrude is not very strong,” said Arthur with hesitation, fol- 
lowing his own thoughts, “ I hope they won’t let her tire herself 
out.” 

“ That is just the reason I sent Kate to see her,’’ replied the 
major. “ Your mother told me that they could not get Gertrude 

304 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


305 

away from the bedside, for an instant, that she says she must 
be the first to speak to her aunt when she is sensible. I thought 
Kate would succeed in getting her to rest, better than anyone.” 

Then the two relapsed once more into silence. Presently a 
servant entered with a note. As his father hurriedly tore open 
the envelope, Arthur watching him closely, saw his face change. 
“ What is it ? ” he said, anxiously, unable to restrain his im- 
patience. “ Is she worse ? ” 

“ It is not from them,” replied the major, hastily, and then 
turning to the servant, he said, “ Is the messenger there ? ” And 
on being answered in the affirmative he continued, “ Tell him to 
say that I will come immediately.” 

As the man closed the door, the major, considerably agitated, 
turned to Arthur and said, “ It is from Mr. Werther, an old 
acquaintance of mine, the proprietor of the Werther House, you 
remember, on Trenton square. He wants to see me immediately 
on important business. I wish you would remain here and if any- 
thing occurs send for me there.” And not waiting for a reply he 
hastily departed, leaving Arthur, restless, anxious and miserable 
as he was, wondering what new mishap had occurred to trouble his 
father so perceptibly. 

Meanwhile, the major, looking greatly disturbed and walking 
very rapidl)'’, arrived at the hotel mentioned. Inquiring for Mr. 
Werther he was promptly ushered into that gentleman’s private 
office. 

“Now, then, Werther,” said the major, as the door was closed 
behind him, “ what is all this about ? ” 

“ Simply this. Major,” replied the gentleman addressed, a stout, 
elderly man, looking very pale, “ Mr. Yates has tried to kill him- 
self.” 

“ Great heavens ! ” exclaimed the major, “you don’t mean it ! ” 

“ I am sorry to say that I do,” replied Mr. Werther, “ and I am 
afraid that he has succeeded, too.” 

“Oh, dear, dear, dear!” cried the major. “This is dreadful! 
Go on, go on, man ! How did it happen ? ” 

“ Well, to tell you the truth. Major,” replied the proprietor with 
nervous diffusiveness, “ I don’t believe Mr. Yates was ever what 
you might call a well-balanced man ; not that I mean he was 
crazy, of course, but he was always a little queer, especially when 
he had been drinking. And after he came back from New York, 
a few days ago, he was stranger than ever, would hardly speak to 
20 


3o6 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


his old friends, and was so gloomy and ugly that the chamber- 
maids were afraid to go into his room. This morning about 
eleven o’clock, Fred, the watchman, saw him go out and about 
twelve saw him come back. He told me that Mr. Yates looked 
very pale and walked rapidly, talking to himself and shaking his 
head from side to side as though he was upset about something, 
and altogether behaved so odd that he followed him upstairs. 
You see, I had warned my people to keep an eye on him. He 
went into his room and slammed the door after him, and then 
Fred heard him walking around, talking to himself excitedly for a 
few moments and then he heard him open the cupboard door and 
jingle the bottles. Fred thought he was taking a drink at first, 
but the next minute he heard the most awful yells and then a 
heavy fall, and dashing open the door he found Mr. Yates tied all 
up in a knot on the floor and screaming so that everybody in the 
house came running to the hall. Well, fortunately I was here and 
I sent for a doctor and cleared the room. Then we found an 
eight ounce bottle of spirits of ammonia on the floor, with only a 
few drops left in it, and there is no doubt that is what he took.' 
The doctor says that the lining of his throat and stomach are com- 
pletely burned out and that he cannot possibly live. It was 
dreadful to see the agony he was in,” concluded Mr. Werther, 
taking out his handkerchief and wiping his white, fat face, 
“ dreadful.” 

The major, who had sat with his hand shading his eyes, listen- 
ing, finally looked up, his face, as he raised it, showing how much 
he was shocked. “ Why do you think he tried to commit suicide, 
Werther.^” he said gravely. “May he not have taken the 
ammonia by mistake ? That seems to me much more likely than 
that a man should choose such a dreadful way of killing himself. 
Then, besides, what cause could he possibly have ? ” 

“ I thought of all that. Major, I thought of all that,” said the 
landlord. “In fact it seemed so unlikely, that, not to do the poor 
fellow injustice, or make it unpleasant for his relatives, if he has 
any, or — or anybody who might feel interested in him, you under- 
stand, I let it be generally known that it was an accident. But,” 
and here he lowered his voice still more, “ the doctor questioned 
him as soon as he could, and Mr. Yates confessed that he was 
looking around for something to kill himself with, and when he 
opened the closet door the first thing he saw was the ammonia 
that he kept to clean Jhis clothes, and he poured it down his throat 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 307 

thinking that it would strangle him ; but he could not hold on long 
enough and had to scream.” 

“Horrible,” said the major, “ horrible ! How could the poor 
fellow be so foolish ? ” 

Mr. Werther tapped his forehead significantly. 

“ Has he asked to see me, or — or anybody ? ” asked the 
major. 

“ No,” replied Mr. Werther, “ he just lies there with his face to 
the wall and, strange to say, since the first outcry he has scarcely 
so much as groaned, though it is plain to see he is suffering 
frightful agony. The doctor says his endurance is something 
wonderful. He just lies there clenching his hands and with the 
sweat breaking out on his forehead in big drops. Indeed it is piti- 
ful. When we ask him if there is anything we can do for him, he 
just shakes his head. Both the doctor and I thought that perhaps 
he might like to see you and that at any rate, under the circum- 
stances, you had better know about it. So I sent for you.” 

“ You did quite right, Werther, you did quite right, and I am 
much obliged to you. Now if you will send some one to show me 
the room I will go to him.” 

The landlord, himself, led the way upstairs and when he had 
pointed out the door the major softly turned the handle and 
entered the apartment. One glance at the yellow, drawn face of 
the sufferer, as he lay upon the bed with a blanket over him, was 
sufficient for the major to realize the terrible tale. Inexpressibly 
shocked, he was glad to turn away and converse with the doctor, 
although even then he felt the deep set, hopeless eyes fastened 
upon him like those of a dumb, suffering animal. 

“ He is growing weaker,” said the doctor, in answer to the 
major’s mechanical question, “ he cannot live long. Oh, yes, he 
knows it ; in fact he refuses to take anything, he says that he does 
not want to live, that his life has been a failure. Poor fellow ! It 
is all very sad. I have done what I can to relieve his suffering, 
and he is wonderfully patient. It will be a great relief for him to 
die. If he lingers it will only be in great pain and he will die 
ultimately of starvation. Yes, it will be a mercy for him to die. 
I doubt if you can get anything from him, not but what he is quite 
conscious, but he is very taciturn. Will you speak to him? ” 

The major nodded assent, and approaching the bedside, said : 

“ Yates, my poor fellow, is there nothing that I can do for 
you ? ” 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


308 

Yates fixed his hollow eyes upon him, wistfully, but feebly shook 
his head in the negative. 

“ Is there no one you would like to see ? ” continued the major, 
kindly, taking his hand. Although he knew nothing of the cause 
of this fatal despair he felt a secret fear that it might have had its 
source in his own family. This made him reluctant to utter 
Gertrude’s name. At the same time he also felt some responsibil- 
ity and much pity for the man’s condition, and strongly desired to 
comfort him with the only means his mind could suggest. And 
yet he dared not mention Gertrude’s name, at least without en- 
couragement. “ Are you sure there is no one at all you would 
like to see ? ” he urged. 

Still that mute reply in the negative. 

“ Is there no business that I can attend to for you? Is there 
nothing that I can do ? ” persisted the major, unable to under- 
stand how a man could die, ignoring all the ties of life. 

No, there was nothing, and, as though to avoid further question- 
ing, Yates turned his haggard face to the wall. 

“ I am afraid that it is of no use,” said the doctor. “ He is 
beyond caring for anything, and it only disturbs him ; he is suffer- 
ing enough without that.” 

“ It is awful,” said the major, turning away from the bedside, 
very much affected. 

“ I have an engagement,” continued the physician, looking at 
his watch, “ I suppose we had better send for a nurse. The fact 
is, I can do nothing more.” 

“ There is no need of a nurse,” said the major, “ I will stay. 
God forbid that the poor fellow should think he had no friend to 
be with him at such a moment.” 

And as the afternoon waned and he sat alone by the bedside 
with his own solemn thoughts, the major felt that the dark eyes 
were often turned upon him in their anguish, and that the forlorn, 
tormented being was not ungrateful for the companionship. The 
major had never had much liking or admiration for Mr. Yates, 
but now that the poor life had been so sadly shattered he felt a 
great pity for the very faults and weaknesses which had character- 
ized the man. Moreover, as has been said, although he knew 
nothing of Yates’ connection with the events of the morning, he 
had an uneasy suspicion that some untoward check to his love 
affair had precipitated this catastrophe. While he earnestly 
hoped that no blame could be laid upon any of his family, the 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


309 


major was quick to recognize the possibility, and he was not one 
to shirk his responsibilities. More than once he tried to talk to 
the sufferer, tried to induce him to vent his feelings or give some 
explanation, but in vain. The only response was that hopeless 
movement of the head. 

The afternoon passed, the sun set and darkness slowly de- 
scended over the city. The major, lost in a sad reverie induced 
by the hour and the occasion, had almost forgotten where he was. 
Suddenly the heavy breathing to which he had become accustomed 
was broken by a peculiar noise, which the old soldier had heard 
many a time before while watching by the death bed of a comrade- 
Rising with a quick foreboding, he lit the gas, and returning to 
the side of the bed, found that Yates was dying. The major 
raised his head, and took his hand, and helped him through the 
struggle as best he could. And when the pain was over, and the 
spirit was leaving the body, a look of gratitude and relief came to 
the troubled eyes, and so it ended. Mr. Yates had at last 
attained a dignity greater than life could give, the dignity of 
death. 


O 


CHAPTER XLVI. 


When Major Arlingford returned Jiome from witnessing the 
sad termination of Yates’ existence, his first thought was to 
shield his sick sister-in-law, and Gertrude, from the shock of the 
tidings. As Gertrude confined herself closely to her aunt’s bed- 
side, and either Mrs. Arlingford or Kate, to whom the major ^ 
confided so much of the occurrence as was necessary to effect his 
purpose, was constantly on ^ard in the sick room, this was not a 
very difficult matter to achieve. 

It w'as not, however, so easy for the major to keep the world in 
ignorance, as, in view of Gertrude.’s relations to the deceased he 
would fain have done. Before the' breath had well left Yates’ 
body, rumors of all sorts, born of his sudden death, went flying 
through the town. The actual truth, indeed, was guessed and 
sent a-flying with the rest, but was finally disbelieved, and the 
more plausible falsehood put forth by the landlord of the Werther 
House was finally accepted as the reality. Not that society really 
cared a straw about Mr. Yates, personally, or whether he- lived or' 
died. Its interest arose solely from the very peculiar position in 
which his death placed Gertrude Alden in particular, and tlie.Arling- 
fords in general. If Mr. Yates had killed himself, then any one of 
the various theories advanced to account for his desperate act might 
be true. It might be true that he had regretted his engagement 
and committed suicide rather than be married to Miss Alden ; it 
might be true that Miss Alden had discovered at the last moment 
that he, Mr. Yates, already had a wife ; it might be true that Mr. 
Yates had learned something wrong about Miss Alden’s history, 
which always had been a little mysterious, that she was not an 
heiress after all, that she was not even the niece of Mrs. Arling- 
ford, but the daughter of heaven knows who ; in fact, any one of 
the many ingenious stories, which were eagerly retailed by 
mothers and daughters to account for the fact, that Mr. Yates had 
committed suicide, might -be true, if Mr. Yates had committed 
suicide. But if, on the other hand, the coarse, terse explanation 

310 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


311 

of his death given by fathers and brothers was true, namely, 
“ That Yates had been on a spree for a week and was looking for 
a bottle of chloral when he got hold of the ammonia, by mistake,” 
if this was true, why, the less said about such a commonplace, 
vulgar affair, the better. 

Although society, with its suave effrontery, did not hesitate to 
seek information in numerous afternoon calls on Major Arling- 
ford’s .family, Mrs. Arlingford and Kate, under orders from the 
major, were discreetly reserved on the subject. There was no 
thought of disobeying the head of the house, now, among any 
member of that little circle, or of even questioning his judgment. 
Poor Mrs. Arlingford had been too badly frightened by the tragic 
termination of this affair into which she had so boldly thrust 
herself, ever to think of disobedience again. Not that the gentle 
lady had any knowledge of the part she had played in the matter ; 
on the contrary, she believed that Mr. Yates’ death was entirely 
accidental. But the memory of her effort to oust him from favor 
with the woman he loved, to ruin his happiness in a blind effort to 
. secure the happiness of her son, was, in'the face of this disaster, a 
source of teariul remorse to Arthur’s mother. Her husband 
understood this so well that he took every means to keep her in 
ignorance of the truth, lest the sensitive mind of his wife should 
be forever haunted by such an accusing ghost as the story of the 
suicide would inevitably raise. 

For whatever responsibility might exist for the deplorable oc- 
y > currence, the major had instantly decided that no good purpose 
could be- served by letting the truth escape to parade itself in the 
A-r ' guise of a lifelong reproach to any of his family. When there- 
fore the shocking event was broken to Gertrude by her Aunt 
Catherine, that lady was so convinced of her own belief in the 
accidental nature of Yates’ death, that she finally convinced -Ger- 
trude. As for the widow of Henry Arlingford, she was for a 
long time excluded from all knowledge of the event, her recovery 
being so slow and uncertain as to necessitate extraordinary pre- 
cautions against the least excitement. In fact, she was never 
again able to resume her former habits, but was confined to her 
room, an invalid, for the few remaining years of her life. 

Notwithstanding her eagerness to atone to her Aunt Mary for 
her tacit refusal to pity and pardon her, Gertrude did not dare, 
under the circumstances, to make the slightest reference to Yates 
or the scene which had caused her aunt’s illness. But, from the 


312 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


moment the stricken lady had regained her consciousness until the 
day of her death, she was never for an instant allowed by Ger- 
trude to doubt the fulness of her love and forgiveness. F rom the 
moment the faded eyes had opened, Gertrude’s had met them 
with a look which was like balm to the tired, sorely-tried heart, 
and at last brought it peace, if not happiness. No words were 
needed, for Gertrude freighted every act, every glance with the 
message of love. Words might have wrecked the precious 
cargo. 

The various emotions experienced by Gertrude, on hearing of 
the sudden death of the man from whom she had parted in anger 
and contempt, it would be difficult, perhaps fruitless, to analyze. 
Youth is a period of heroics. It is always leading a forlorn hope 
with admirable fool-hardiness, with sublime folly. Gertrude was 
in conflict with life, and valiant self-sacrifice was her only weapon. 
The shock to her pride in discovering the bargain of which she 
was the subject was so unexpected, so mean and inglorious in 
comparison with her exaltation, that it confused and humiliated 
her. All the standards and ideals of her life were shattered. In 
peremptorily freeing herself from her engagement to Mr. Yates, 
her love for Arthur had not entered her mind. Before that 
thought came to her, before she could take that joy in her 
freedom, she was confronted by the awesomeness of Yates’ 
sudden death. Then pity gradually replaced her anger and dis- 
dain for the man who had died. His repugnant qualities receded 
and the fact that he had loved her, alone remained prominent. 
^She was not without remorse, thinking of that unhappy, distorted 
'life, and in many sad corhmunings with herself, she questioned 
whether she had done her duty well. 

After time had passed and softened her experience, and her 
existence had adapted itself to a new perspective, she was some- 
what chastened and subdued ; somewhat of her imperiousness 
deserted her, thereby adding to her character a more subtle charm 
of womanhood. Her love for Arthur, and, too, his love for her, was 
made deeper and better for this lesson, in the seriousness of life. 

The task of disclosing to Mrs. Arlingford the sequel of her 
efforts to shield her husband’s name from obloquy, was a delicate, 
if not a dangerous one. It was necessary, however, when she 
had become convalescent, that she should be informed of Yates’ 
death lest some injudicious acquaintances should betray the fact 
without care or warning. 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


313 


It was Gertrude who broke the intelligence to her, and gently 
and lovingly the task was done. When at last the final word was 
spoken, Mrs. Arlingford’s feeble head was bowed upon her breast, 
her pale, thin hands crossed in her lap, and Gertrude, who stood 
anxiously watching the effect of her disclosure, saw that she was 
praying. As time went by, all but Gertrude, were satisfied that the 
shock had done no harm, but she, from close observation of her 
aunt, detected a growing restlessness which alarmed her. In an- 
swer to her solicitations, Mrs. ArHngford at last acknowledged 
that certain business matters were weighing upon her mind and 
after much persuasion reluctantly consented to confide in Major 
Arlingford. Having once consented, however, she was feverishly 
anxious for the conference, and when her brother-in-law arrived 
in obedience to Gertrude’s summons, she proceeded directly to the 
point, though not without first saying, somewhat grimly, “ It is 
the first time, Thomas, that I have ever asked your help. But 
there, perhaps, I have been wrong, God knows. I want you to 
tell me,” she continued, “ who are Mr. Yates’ executors.” 

“ Well, my dear,” replied the major, “ so far as I am informed, 
he did' not appoint any. In fact he left no will and his affairs, 
altogether, were in great confusion. My impression is that when 
his business was wound up there was very little to dispose 
of.” 

‘ But was he not rich } ” said Mrs. Arlingford, staring at him in 
sudden wonder. 

“ No,” said the major, “ he undoubtedly thought that he was, 
but, as I say, when it came to clearing off his indebtedness and 
winding up his business, there was not much left. It often hap- 
pens so,” continued the major lightly, noting the bewildered look 
with which his information was received, and attributing it to a 
wrong cause, “ when a man is in active life and reputed wealthy, 
a sudden closing of his projects is in itself disastrous, and often 
reveals a surprisingly different result from what was anticipated. 
Besides that, poor Yates was very wild in his investments during, 
the last few years. He seems to have acted on caprice and 
impulse, and there are always plenty of men ready to take advan- 
tage of imprudence. In fact it does not take long to lose a for- 
tune.” 

“ And he left nothing, you say } ’’ persisted Mrs. Arlingford, 
still staring at him blankly. 

“ Well,” replied the major, “ compared with what he was 


314 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


supposed to be worth, it was nothing, some twelve or fifteen 
thousand, I don’t think it was more.” 

Mrs. Arlingford relapsed into silence with such a strange look 
upon her face that the major grew uneasy, and hurriedly clearing 
his throat began with an effort, “ I suppose that you are thinking 
about his being the trustee of Gertrude’s fortune, but there is no 
occasion to worry about that, my dear, you can dismiss it alto- 
gether from your mind ; I have taken all the necessary steps to 
insure the safety of her money.” 

^ut the effect of his announcement instead of being calming, as 
the major expected, agitated Mrs. Arlingford still more. She 
turned upon him sharply and stared aghast. “ What do you 
mean ? ” she cried. “ In God’s name what have you done ? ” 

“ Why,” answered the major, surprised in his turn, as well as 
somewhat disconcerted, “ I — that is, poor Henry, before he died, 
asked me to keep an eye on Gertrude’s inheritance, and when I 
found that Mr. Yates had died without appointing a successor for 
the trust, I made application to the courts and was appointed 
guardian. Of course 1 should have spoken to you about the 
matter, only you were not well enough to be bothered with busi- 
ness ; and after all, it is a mere form, you understand, because 
Gertrude will be eighteen next month and then I shall have to turn 
the money over to the young lady herself. I hope you are not dis- 
pleased.” 

Mrs. Arlingford slowly shook her head. “ She will get the 
money when I die, Thomas Arlingford,” she said, “ when I die, 
not before ; though she won’t have to wait long, not long.” 

“ But I don’t understand, my dear,” said her brother-in-law, 
gently. “ The terms of her mother’s will are that she is to have it 
at eighteen or when she marries, and it is all ready, principal and 
interest, in government bonds.” 

Mrs. Arlingford suddenly grasped the arm of her chair with her 
bony hands and bending toward the major, peered into his face 
with intense eagerness. “ For God’s sake, what do you mean.? ” 
she cried, in a constrained, agitated voice. “ Did he not — my hus- 
band — did he not lose it ? ” 

Gradually the major’s face fell. “ You know it then ? ” he said 
slowly, regretfully. “ Why need Henry have told you ! I warned 
him not to.” 

Mrs. Arlingford’s hands relaxed and she sank back in her chair 
with a face from which all the life of a moment before had faded, 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


315 


leaving her grayer and older than ever. “ So ! ” she muttered, “ 1 
see it all. He confided in you first. He always did.” Then with 
something that could scarcely be called a laugh, she added, “ I 
might have known it ! ” 

The major made no reply. Slowly a tear made its crooked way 
down the furrows of her cheek. It was hard to have this one 
wretched memory torn from her. Presently raising her head 
wearily, she said : “ And that is why you have been so poor. 
Because you were replacing the money my husband — ” 

She faltered and the major interposed, gently, There ,<» was 
nothing else for me to do. He was my brother. His honor was 
mine. It was only right and just that I should repair the wrong. 
It would not have been fair to saddle you, a woman, with such a 
burden. Believe me, that was the only thought I had in advising 
him not to tell you. As for our being poor,” he added lightly, 
“ I am sure that none of us have ever suffered for anything.” 

“ I understand, I understand,” she said feebly, nodding her 
head, with a far away look that sorrowing age takes on. “You 
are a good man, Thomas Arlingford, an honorable gentleman. I 
used to hate you sometimes for being what he was not. That is 
why I would not tell you his secret when he died. I thought that, 
at last, he had confided in me, solely, me, his wife. But I was 
mistaken. I thought, poor fool that I was, that I was wise enough 
and strong enough to manage the wretched affair alone and so 
deserve his confidence. But I have been fooled, and betrayed, and 
rendered miserable, very miserable,” she added in a broken voice, 
“all to no purpose.” Recovering herself she continued. “Don’t 
think that because I have seemed to live extravagantly while you 
were economizing, that it was because I was indifferent ; it was a 
part of my poor plan. I dared not let Gertrude suspect. And 
now,” she continued, pressing her hands to her eyes, with an im- 
patient gesture, “ the bitterest part of it is to think that I, who 
have ninety thousand dollars, must stand idly by and see you rob 
yourself, to pay my husband’s debts of honor ! ” 

“ My dear Mary,” said the major soothingly, “your father acted 
wisely in giving you the income of your fortune only, otherwise it 
might and probably would have been all gone by this time, and 
that indeed would have been unfortunate. I really do not need 
the money now. Kate, as you know, is soon to be married to Mr. 
Langdon, who is quite wealthy, and Arthur is able to support him- 
self. What is more, from what the boy tells me, it seems the 


3i6 


A BLIND BARGAIN. 


money will come back into the family again. I understand from 
him that he and Gertrude have always loved each other very 
dearly, and that although separated by an unfortunate misunder- 
standing, they will, with your consent, some day be married. So, 
you see, by giving your niece to my son, you more than repay me, 
for when Gertrude marries Arthur, one of the dearest wishes of 
my life will be realized. Everything has turned out all right, and 
we won’t worry about it, any more.” 

“ I will gladly give my consent to Gertrude’s marrying Arthur,” 
replied Mrs. Arlingford. “ But,” she added, bending her gray 
brows with a determined expression, “ not until I die will it be, as 
you say, all right. Then I shall make it right so far as the money 
is concerned ; as for the rest ” — a long, tremulous sigh told the 
story. 

For awhile she sat leaning back in her chair, her eyes fixed 
dreamily on vacancy and her hands clasped in her lap ; presently 
her lips trembled and once more the tears dimmed her eyes. “If 
he had only told me that you knew,” she whispered. “ It is so 
hard to think that all that has been endured and suffered was 
wasted, useless, unnecessary.” 

“ My dear,” replied the major, gravely, “ I am not, as you 
know, a religious man, and I have few beliefs. But one of them 
is, that no suffering endured for the sake of others is useless, or 
wasted, or even unnecessary. The necessity may not be apparent, 
but be sure that it exists m some life, somewhere, and that our 
endurance achieves far nobler purposes than the attainments of 
our own personal, selfish ends.” 


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i Sitili nill 

SfeiS 


Accede 
Scenes OF 
CUricmIife 


Rcmola 

IHtOPHRUSIU^ 
' SUCH 


TheMiiI 

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Eiucmarne* 


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X X ^ r • 

A CLEAN SAVING OF $8.00. 

Tie Most RemarMe Literary Offer Ever Male. 

I00»000 new subscribers are wanted for Belford’s Magazir 
and to get them we make the following great ofFer: 

FOR $4,50 

We will send to each new subscriber a set of 

(3E0RGE ELIOT’S COMPLETE WORK! 

In six large, i2mo volumes, containing 4,600 pages, eb 
gantly bound in the best English cloth; large, clear typ( 
good paper, gold and ink embossing; each set in a neai 
box. Published at fio.oo, and 

BEIiFOl^D’S jVIflGflZlHE 

For one year, postpaid, containing over 1,800 pages of read 
ing matter. Published at $2.50. 

The magazine is under the editorial management o 
Actual Size, 9 % x 6M. keenest and most slashing writer of the day, 

Ool. iDonsrnsr 

And, besides a complete original novel from the pen of some foremost American novelis 
(alone worth more than the price of the magazine), contains vigorous discussions on the im 
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and independent manner by the best authorities, and articles, sketches, poems and stories b] 
gifted and popular writers. 

The hhihest place in the realm of fiction has been accorded by universal consent tc 
GeQj||k il®t. No writer, living or dead, has covered the ground she has swept with the wing 
of h^clHRnanding genius. 

The set includes Adam Bede, Romola, Felix Holt, Middlemarch, Daniel Deronda, 
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Over 2,000 newspapers speak in the highest possible terms of Belford’s Magazine, and 
commend it to all who want a fair, able and fearless exponent of sound principles, combined 
with the literature of a first-class magazine. 

Subscriptions can begin with any numberi as each number is complete in itself, and may 
be sent to any of MumfUIMb 

ofnce or Express 
order, or Bank 
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CLARKE & CO. 

Publishers. 

ClIICAOO: 

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NEW YORK: 

22 East 18th Street. 

SAN FRANCISCO: 

684 Blarket Street. 


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